


Demon Hunter

by brimstonegold, Ithiel_Dragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Sibling Incest, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-12
Updated: 2009-09-03
Packaged: 2018-10-01 02:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 320,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10178918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brimstonegold/pseuds/brimstonegold, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiel_Dragon/pseuds/Ithiel_Dragon
Summary: When Sam Winchester was six months old his mother and brother were killed by a fire in his nursery.  John Winchester eventually became a hunter, obsessed with finding what had killed his wife and son.  At sixteen Sam left his father, and hunting, for good wanting a normal life.  Six years later, just when he thinks he finally has what he's always wanted, Sam gets an unexpected call from his wounded father, warning him that something is hunting him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story uploaded by Ithiel Dragon. This was a roleplay story I was involved in several years ago on a forum called Devil's Gate. Ithiel Dragon played Dean Winchester, and some other characters. Brimstone Gold played Sam Winchester, and some other characters. I am posting this story in its entirety and unedited. The page breaks are where the author changed. Maybe one day I will go back and edit it into a more proper story format, but don't hold your breath. I'm mostly posting this story here so I don't lose it. I still think its a pretty good read the way it is, but it is still obviously a roleplay. You've been warned.

  
It was past two in the morning.  


  
Late, or early depending on how one thought of it.

The moon hung large and silver in the dark starless sky. Shifting in and out of the clouds, as though playing a strange game of hide and seek with the earth below. Casting dark shadows that shifted and changed every second, making it look like the night itself moved. Breathed. Was alive.

The main street of the small West Virginia town was completely deserted now. Just past sundown the streets had been filled with groups of children and adults walking from house to house. Delighted laughter and chorus' of 'trick or treat' filling the air.

Now the streets were empty. Jack o' lanterns standing as silent guardians outside dark houses. Streams of toilet paper, courteous of a few rebellious teenagers, dangling from the skeletal limbs of trees, wafting slowly in the breeze. Even the tricksters had retired to their beds long ago. The only sound the soft rustling of brown dry leaves that still clung desperately to nearly bare tree limbs. As though refusing to acknowledge the approach of winter.

The peaceful silence of the night was broken suddenly by the shuffling sound of fast running steps. Harsh labored breathing. Somewhere in the distance a dog began to howl. The man with thin graying hair looked desperately over his shoulder. Nothing was there, only shadows, yet for some reason the man's eyes filled with terror and he ran faster.

The man headed straight for the dark church towering in the center of town like a giant stone gargoyle, dwarfing most of the other buildings. He ran up the old stone steps. Throwing open the wooden doors wide and stumbled inside. Still gasping and panting, clutching his chest, blood seeping though his fingers, as he ran straight for the alter.

A gust of wind from the still open door made a few of the candles go out and the man turned. Shadows danced wildly across the walls as though the very light was trying to flee from the figure that suddenly stood in the doorway of the church.

"You can not enter here! This is holy ground!" The man shouted defiantly, though the faint satisfaction and confidence on the man's face faltered immediately when the shadow in the doorway merely chuckled before stepping over the threshold.

"No! This is impossible! You can't be here!" He shouted again, desperately reaching behind him where a basin of holy water sat on the alter. He heaved the contents all over the approaching figure and only then did the other man stop. Looking down at the gleaming silver bowl coming to rest at his feet before he lifted his head once more. Shaking dark damp hair out of his eyes and grinning at the terrified man in front of him. His cold hazel eyes held no emotion at all.

"What did you think I was, hunter? A demon?" The young man chuckled, and the other man did not even have time to cry out in surprise before a flash of silver sliced through the air. Blood spraying bright red on the overhanging cross as the old man stumbled backwards, clutching at his throat and gurgling.

The young man watched dispassionately as the other figure flailed helplessly around on the floor for a few moments before growing still. Only then did he move to make sure the man was dead, wiping his blade off on the old man's clothes before he stood and turned away without another look back at the gruesome sight that would greet church goers in the morning.

He wasn't surprised to hear his cell phone ringing even before he'd made it to the church doors. The young man stood in the doorway as he answered.

"Yes, it is finished." He said calmly, listened for a few more moments, then nodded even though no one could see it. He shut off the phone and walked calmly out into the cool early November air.

***

John Winchester's knuckles were bone white where they clutched the steering wheel.

His breathing loud and far too labored in the closed confines of the truck's cabin. His rapid heartbeat pounding so hard in his ears he could barely hear the ringing through the cell phone pressed to his ear.

One ring... two... Pick up... pick up the phone damn it...

It wouldn't have surprised him if his son did not answer his phone. It was late. Very late. So late it was almost early. He wouldn't have been surprised if his son had already turned his cell phone off for the night. Or if he simply ignored the call all together. It wouldn't have been the first time. Probably would not be the last.

But this time was not like any other time. What if his son did not answer the phone for a reason other than the fact that he hated his father? What if he did not answer because John was too late... too late to warn him...

John Winchester thought he already knew every fear a man could possibly feel. As an ex-marine he knew the fear of going into battle. Fighting for his country. Watching friends and comrades die by his side, and having no choice but to continue fighting unless he was prepared to join them.

He'd thought, at the time, that was the worst fear he'd ever know in his life. Oh, how he had been wrong. So wrong. That fear had been nothing compared to years later. Waking up to the sound of his wife's screams. Feeling his blood turn to ice at the sound even as his heart pounded harder trying to force it through his veins as he ran.

Yet even that fear had not compared to seconds later hearing a second terrified scream. Not from wife. But his four year old son, Dean. Screaming as though the devil were after him. Joined soon by the wailing of his infant son, responding to his brother's terrified cries. But even that fear seemed pale by comparison to when he'd arrived in the nursery where the screams had come from, only to find it empty save for his wailing younger son in his crib. At least... so he had thought. Until he'd looked up and seen Mary...

John clenched the steering wheel tighter. Stepping on the gas harder. The dark landscape passing by in a blur outside the windows. He checked the rearview mirror. Still nothing. But that did not mean anything, he knew. A fourth ring from the cell phone clutched in his other hand. Damn it Sam! Pick up the phone!

Fear. He thought he knew what it felt like. He had lost half his family in a night of fire and blood. John knew he would never survive it if... if he was too late yet again...

* * *

Sam Winchester was grateful as hell that Halloween was over and done with. They'd pulled all the decorations down yesterday and if he'd had his choice, he'd have salted and burned the lot of them. It wasn’t just the costumes of witches, mummies, werewolves, and all the other monsters, it simply brought back too many bitter memories. Memories of “Yes sir! No sir!” while snapping to attention. Memories of running miles in the rain, of target practice with half-a-dozen types of guns, rifles, crossbows, throwing knives, and Molotov cocktails. Memories of hand-to-hand combat, knife fighting, and the never ending bootcamp that had been his life for just about as long as he could remember.

All of that had come to an abrupt end on the second of November when he was sixteen. The normal life everyone around him had was finally too much to bear and he wanted such a life more desperately than anything. What was the point of revenge against the creature that had killed his mother and brother? His father was convinced something supernatural had been behind the fire that had taken the lives of his wife and eldest son. John swore Mary was pinned to the ceiling of the nursery, her belly slit open, when he pulled Sam from the crib. Sam clutched to his chest, he'd screamed for Dean over and over, but soon was driven out by the fire that was too hot to be natural.

Something supernatural killed his mom and brother. Sam could accept that because he knew what crawled in the dark. He and his father had taken out dozens of evil sons-of-bitches, anything from ghosts to zombies to revenants to shapeshifters. Time and again, he knew he and his father had saved lives. To do so, he’d given up everything for the hunt. He'd given up his childhood, any friends he might have made, Sunday baseball games and picnics, rock concerts, even a normal father. He didn’t have a father. He had a fucking drill sergeant.

Six years ago he had decided it was his turn to be selfish. He wanted a life without a gun beside his bed, a knife under the mattress, and salt lining the windows and doors. The great John Winchester positively exploded when Sam announced his intentions to give up hunting, to stay in one school, and to go to college. Their ensuing argument had been spectacular and probably heard three towns away. It was the first time, ever, that John had hit him. Even after all this time, his father’s words still cut deep. He wasn’t betraying his family, dammit! He just didn’t want to wash any more graveyard dirt out of his clothes, or blood—be it his, his father’s, or whatever supernatural creature they’d killed that night. He was tired of stitching his father up, of explaining to school mates how he’d gotten the bruises or cuts or broken bones. Tired of lying to everyone. He just wanted to be normal.

He wanted to have real friends. He wanted to be in one place long enough to have a girlfriend, and go to dances and play a full season of sports in just one school instead of four. He didn’t want to spend any more weeks being homeschooled when they were moving too much to enroll him in school. He was done with it all. After his father hit him across the jaw, he’d told Sam to get out and never come back. And that’s just what Sam did. Sam stormed out of that motel room and never looked back.

Forged papers proved he was an emancipated teen. Forged papers got him into a good high school in the Midwest. He excelled at sports, he excelled at school work, he excelled at everything, and easily scored a full ride to Stanford. The law had always fascinated him, maybe because he and his father had broken more laws through the years than he could count. He now had four years of law school under his belt, had the most gorgeous girlfriend in the world whom he hoped would soon become his fiancé, and come nine a.m. this very morning was the interview that would set him on the road to success. He’d have his dog, white picket fence, 2.5 kids, a Mercedes for Jessica and a Porsche for himself. He grinned at the thought. Normal.

As he reviewed the law books, he nibbled on the cookies Jessica had made for him. He looked up and away from the book, reciting to himself the outcome of Dickensen versus Martins, when the calendar caught his eye. Midnight was long past. That meant it was the sixth anniversary of the start of his normal life. It was also the twenty-first anniversary of the fire that killed his mom and his older brother, Dean. He had often wondered what it would have been like to have an older brother. He wouldn’t have been alone all those years on the road with his father. He’d have had a friend. A best friend. He could have crawled into bed beside his big brother and Dean would have shushed him and held him and soothed away the terrible nightmares that plagued him. Nightmares of fire, smells of sulfur, creatures out of Giger-like artwork, and of watching a boy not unlike himself being whipped or beaten and Sam feeling every blow himself though there were no marks on him when he awoke.

A brother. They’d have picked on each other, Sam was certain. Rolled in the dirt as they wrestled. Dunked each other in the pool. Thrown popcorn at each other. Dean would have helped him learn how to shoot a gun and helped him be better fighter. He’d have been the protector of his little brother. Sam blinked back his sudden tears. How could your heart ache for someone dead, someone you'd never even known? Sometimes he wondered if his father had been right. Had he betrayed his brother by walking away from hunting? A part of him wept for the brother he'd lost while another part, just like his father, begged for revenge against whatever had taken that special soul away from him.

The sudden vibrating rattle of the cell phone lying on the kitchen table startled him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the clock. Who would be calling him at this time of the night? He'd wanted to stay up a bit and review his books, readying himself for the upcoming interview. Jessica had given up on him by midnight and long since gone to bed.

He pushed himself up from the couch and the books scattered around him. He cursed when he heard three books cascade from the cushions to the floor, thumping loudly. Jessica was a light sleeper and he really hoped she hadn't heard that. Or the loud annoying chatter of the phone bouncing on the wooden table. Walking around the couch and heading into the kitchen, he tripped over his boots and stumbled, nearly going to his knees. Dammit! The phone was already on its fourth "ring" when he got to it. He probably should have just let it go to voice mail. It was most likely Mike begging for cab money to get his ass home from wherever he'd ended up, or more likely from whomever's place he’d ended up. It certainly wasn't the first time Mike had called in the middle of the night for money for a ride home from some girl’s place. If Mike wasn't his freaking best friend at college…

Sam didn't even bother to look at the caller ID. He swore he was going to throttle his friend. Mike knew he had that big interview in the morning! Sam just wanted to answer the phone to shut it up, hoping Jessica had slept through the cacophony of noise that all seemed so loud to his ears.

"Mike, I swear to God you are a pain in my ass. This better be good, like you're lying in a ditch somewhere with two broken legs," Sam growled softly. "Because if you're not, you will be."

* * *

John Winchester didn’t panic. He never acted irrationally or jumped to conclusions. In his line of ‘work’ that was a good way to get killed, after all. If there was one lesson he’d drilled into his son’s head above all others, that was it. Know your enemy. Don’t plow ahead into the unknown. Consider the consequences before you act.

It seemed he should have paid more attention to his own lessons. Especially when right at this moment John felt as close to panicking as he’d felt in years. Was ready to drive clear across the country, without stopping, from the east coast straight to the west if his son did not pick up the phone right the fuck now, damn the consequences, just to make sure his son was still alive…

When the line on the other end finally connected, the older man’s relief was so great he felt more than a little light headed and he had to concentrate hard to keep the truck from swerving. Though, he admitted, that feeling could also have something to do with the bright red stain soaking through his flannel shirt at his stomach.

The was wound deep, but not the worst he’d ever received. All things considered, it was probably lucky he’d gotten away with only that. It would need stitches, and he should definitely be applying pressure to it right now to stop the bleeding. But since he needed one hand on the wheel and the other on his phone that was a little impossible right now.

It would have to be a short conversation, the first they’d had in years, and maybe the last he would ever have with his son. Hell, it might even be very short once Sam actually realized who he was talking too. It was obvious by his ‘greeting’ that his son didn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t have even answered the phone if he did. He could only pray that Sam would listen to him now, would listen to his warning, though the young man had stopped listening to him long before he left all those years ago.

“Sam… don’t hang up. Please.” John was a little surprised just how weak, strained with pain, his own voice sounded. Maybe the wound was worse than he thought, but he couldn’t really care about that right now. He didn’t know how much time he had, either before Sam ended the call or before the thing hunting him caught up with him, and he had to warn his son. “Listen to me. You’re in danger…”

* * *

“Sam…don’t hang up. Please.”

Sam’s father was on the other end of the phone. That fact alone stunned him almost beyond hearing the pleading words. Through the years John had tried getting in touch with Sam every so often, but Sam had stubbornly ignored his calls. During their final fight John had told him in no uncertain terms to get out and Sam was determined not to let the man drag him back into any reconciliation that would only last a few days, maybe a week at best before he knew, just knew, they’d be at each other’s throats again. John had called often right after Sam left but if Sam saw the number was his father’s—basically any number he didn’t recognize on the caller ID--he’d ignore the call and let it go to voice mail. He’d listen to his father’s message, hear his father’s voice, and find some strange sort of mix between fury and solace in it. If he didn’t actually speak with his father, he couldn’t fight with his father. After al lthis time, he couldn’t say he wasn’t still furious with his father, but he had, he admitted reluctantly been debating if he should invite John to his wedding. He had finally come to the conclusion he should. He loved his father, really he did, but they just didn’t look at the world the same way. Even so, when he and Jessica had the kids they were talking about having, he did want his kids to at least meet their grandfather, even if John was a stubborn ass of a man.

It had been a few years since his father had tried to contact him and now and again Sam would call Bobby Singer or Pastor Jim, friends of his father, and get an update on John just to confirm his father was still alive. He imagined John would be shocked to learn of that and even more shocked to see the picture of John and Mary that Sam kept in the bedroom, the husband and wife together, looking so happy. His mother looked radiant and it was the only real image that Sam ever had of her in him mind. Beside his parent’s picture sat a picture of his father and Dean. Dean was probably about three, in swimming trunks with dripping wet hair, and his father had him by the waist, obviously tickling him. Both had the biggest shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. Dean’s birthmark, a brown splotch on his shoulder that reminded Sam of angel wings, was readily visible. Sam had a similar one in nearly the same place, just like his dad and brother.

“Listen to me,” John begged.

Sam couldn’t ever recall hearing his father’s voice so shaky, maybe even weak, and the pain he heard in his father’s voice suddenly scared Sam. Although he could hear the worry, the pain he heard in that voice was physical pain. His father was hurt.

“You’re in danger.”

“Dad?” Sam finally managed to get out. “Are you okay? What’s happened? What do you mean I’m in danger?”

Sam’s mind whirled. His father never acted on impulse, never jumped to irrational conclusions. If his father said Sam was in danger, Sam knew at the visceral level he was. If Sam was in danger—his frozen limbs suddenly moved into action and “Oh, God,” whispered from lips.

He pulled the cell phone away from his ear as he took the stairs two at a time, running to his and Jessica’s bedroom, fear wrapping cold bony fingers tightly around his heart. In his stocking feet, he slid to a stop in the doorway. The nightlight near the bed spilled pale light throughout the room. Jessica was in bed, sprawled on her back her golden hair fanned like a halo about her beautiful face. Sam felt his breath rush out of his lungs when he saw her eyelids flutter open. “You ever coming to bed?” she mumbled.

“Soon,” he told her, giving her a brief if tremulous smile. “Go back to sleep.”

She uh-hummed him and snuggled deeper under the covers. “Hurry,” she mumbled before drifting back to her dreams.

Sam walked back down the creaking stairs, his heart pounding in his chest so hard he thought it could break his ribs with just a little more force. “Dad? You still there?” Sam asked, bringing the cell phone back to his ear.

A part of his mind was already thinking about the extra salt he had squirreled away in the attic, the knife he had in the closet, and the gun beside his bed. It was like he was a kid again and all the training his father had drilled into him burst to the surface in the onslaught of adrenaline.  
  
Calm down, he told himself. He needed to hear his father out. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just a senseless, ridiculous fear of his father’s. A nightmare maybe. Or maybe it was John’s underhanded way of trying to reconnect with his son. If it was, it’d be the last time.

“I’m listening.” He collapsed onto the couch, shoving the law books aside and reaching around the arm of the couch for the boots he’d tripped over, instinctively preparing himself for whatever danger his father thought he might be in.

* * *

John only had a moment to feel relief that his son had finally answered the phone. Relief washing over him so great that his son was all right he had to grip the steering wheel tighter to keep from swerving.

He wasn’t too late. Not this time.

And Sam hadn’t simply hung up on him when he’d heard his voice. In fact, John imagined he might have even heard concern in the younger man’s voice when he asked what happened. But the elder man had little time to consider that his son might not hate him as much as he feared, much less answer Sam’s question, when he heard the younger man’s frightened whisper and his heart nearly stopped.

“Sam? Sam! Damn it!”

For a few seconds feeling that sense of panic building inside of him again, that maybe he was too late after all. Again. That he would be forced once more to listen to his son’s screams before he died and once more he would be powerless to stop it.

“Sam!”

Hearing the soft sound of voices on the other end of the line John relaxed only the slightest amount. Trying to will his heart to stop beating so hard and fast. It would only make the bleeding worse.

“Yes. I’m here.” The elder man replied feeling something between a mixture of intense relief hearing his son’s voice again and irritation for Sam scaring him so in the first place. But his son was listening. That was almost more than he could have hoped for right now, given their past. He had the chance to warn his son.

“I can’t explain everything. There isn’t any time, Sam. I’ve been hunting something. Something that has been tracking down and killing other hunters. Its killed at least twenty that I know of. Tonight I found it, or it found me more likely.” John paused so he could stifle a groan of pain. Glancing briefly down at the wound before turning his attention back to the road and his son. Blinking to clear his vision. “I got away, barely, but not before…”

The older man paused again as he remembered the shock and fear he’d felt when the demon… that’s what it had to be, but it was unlike any demon he’d ever seen before… when the demon had said his son’s name. Letting him know that once it was done with him it would be going for Sam next. Then John had managed to surprise it with a shot gun full of rock salt. That surprise, however brief, had been the only reason he’d gotten away.

“It's coming for you, Sam. It knows where you are. You have to leave, call Bobby, find some other hunters to help you, it’s too strong to fight alone. I’m in West Virginia now, I’ll try to keep it busy for as long as I can…”

* * *

“You’re hurt,” Sam said, knowing his father had to be badly hurt for Sam to be able to hear it in John’s voice, for John to hint at it and then not admit to it. “I can tell, Dad, so don’t even try to tell me you’re not.”

Sam raked his fingers through his hair as his mind chewed through options. He’d be damned if he was going to let his father sacrifice himself. Sam hadn’t hunted in six years. Sure, he’d kept himself in shape, but he knew he didn’t have the finely-honed edge his father did, an edge John would have no matter how badly hurt. If that thing could get the drop on his father, it wasn’t just good, it was damned good. He had a feeling he'd need his father to help him survive whatever it was. Okay, maybe he wanted his father by him to help him fight whatever it was.

“I know Bobby’s is about about fifteen hours from West Virginia, but do you think you can get there? If you can lead it to Bobby’s, Bobby and I will come up with some sort of trap.” Sam knew his voice sounded as worried as he felt. His dad was hurt, whatever was hunting him was good enough to catch him off guard, and Sam was asking his father to stay one step ahead of it for half a day.

Sam didn’t like the hesitation he heard in his father’s voice confirming that he could. “Don’t lie to me! If you can’t get that far, we’ll get to you.”

When his father’s voice came back stronger Sam almost smiled. Stubborn ass of a man. His father would find a way to make it there no matter how badly he was hurt. “Okay. Then I’ll meet you at Bobby’s. We’ll be ready for it. I’ll call you when I get there. If you’re too bad and you don’t think you can get there, _call me_. I’ll come in with enough back up to take down the gates of Hell. Dad…” Sam choked, wondering if it would be the last time he talked to his dad. “…be careful. I …want to see you again.”

That was as close to an “I love you” as Sam was able to manage. He hoped it was enough that his dad understood.

* * *

  
_You’re hurt._

John managed a tight smile despite the situation when his son cut him off before he could even try to deny it. Some things never changed it seemed, no matter how much else did. It didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want the boy worrying over him right now when he should be concentrating on getting to safety. On finding some help to take down the son of a bitch hunting them…

The worry in his son’s voice when he suggested his plan made the older man’s throat feel tight with emotion. He almost told Sam no. That he wasn’t going to try to lead it anywhere, except away from his son. But then again, if Sam went to Bobby’s then all John had to do was not lead it there. His friend’s home was virtually a fortress against the supernatural. Sam wouldn’t be safer anywhere else.

“I can make it.” He said, feeling only the slightest twinge of guilt for lying to his son. But if he told him the truth the fool boy might try coming to find him instead of going to Bobby’s. He probably wouldn’t make the fifteen hour drive anyway…

The younger man’s harsh response took him aback a little, and he wasn’t exactly sure what made him change his mind. If it was the confidence in his son’s voice that hadn’t been there the last time they’d spoken or fact that Sam actually cared enough to want him to make it through this alive…

“I’ll make it.” John Winchester repeated, and this time he meant it. Come hell or high water, he’d get there somehow. Maybe between the three of them, with a plan, they’d actually have a chance at taking the fucker down.

_Be careful. I …want to see you again._

Again, the elder man had to swallow down the emotion that welled up in his throat hearing the way his son’s voice broke over his words. He normally didn’t let himself get so emotional and blamed it on blood loss. John blinked back the sting in his eyes.

“I’ll see you in fifteen hours. Be careful, son.” He said and hung up the phone. Tossing it down onto the seat next to him and then quickly unbuttoned his bloody flannel shirt. Shrugging it off, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out in pain at the movement, and pressed the bunched up material hard against his stomach to staunch the flow of blood.

It would have to do for now. Until he could find a gas station or rest stop, someplace he could quickly dress the wound. Stitching it up would have to wait. He couldn’t risk staying in one place that long. John stepped harder on the gas, trying to put more distance between himself and what was hunting him. But even as he checked the rearview mirror and again saw nothing, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end like he was being watched. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was leading them into a trap, not the other way around.

* * *

Swallowing back his fear when John ended the call, Sam knew he had to move fast. He couldn’t afford to let emotions get in the way. His father was counting on him. On _him_. John was going to drive, injured, some eleven to twelve hundred miles, a deadly beast on his ass, and he was trusting Sam having that magic bullet ready when he got there. Sam wouldn’t let him down. Just couldn’t. He wouldn’t lose his dad, not to a god-damned supernatural creature. He’d lost his mom and brother. He refused to lose his dad, too.  
  
Quickly he scrolled through his phone book until he found Bobby’s number. While he was telling Bobby what little he knew, he sat at his laptop and booked the earliest flight he could to South Dakota then put in an order for a cab to pick him up in an hour. He shot off an email to the law firm he was supposed to interview with, explaining that his father had been gravely injured and he couldn’t make the interview. Fuck. Just fuck. Maybe they’d give him another chance after this…whatever the hell it was…was dead and he could safely return to Jessica and his normal life once again.

If it was after Sam—dammit he’d gotten out of hunting! Why’d it want him dead?-- Jessica had to get out of town tonight and stay out of town. How the hell was he going to explain this to her? _“Jess, I’ve got some creature out of one of my nightmares gunning for me. Yeah, monsters are real by the way. You need to go into hiding until I kill it. Oh, and salt your windows and doors while you’re at it, just in case. Keep some holy water and iron on hand, and don’t forget a silver knife. too.”_ Yeahhhhh. Right.

Cursing under his breath at the fucked up turn his previously wonderful life had taken, Sam yanked his old empty military green duffel out of the back of the closet, scattering shoes and umbrellas and hats in the process. Reaching inside the bag he confirmed the wickedly curved knife inscribed with runes that Bobby had given him long ago was still snuggly in its concealed pocket. From the laundry room he grabbed a few days worth of clean clothes that he hadn’t gotten around to carrying upstairs yet, then turned back to the closet, digging through the boxes on the top shelf. He pulled a wooden box down and opened it, carelessly tossing aside the school research notes he’d placed inside, knowing Jessica would never go through them and discover the false bottom. After wiggling free the board, he scooped out a few rosaries, some holy water, and other tools of the trade that he threw into his duffel, mindful of what he’d be able to carry in his luggage, hating that he was going to have to check it in. That sucked out loud. He slipped his laptop into its case, set everything by the door, and tossed his winter coat on top of them. November in South Dakota was probably going to be fucking freezing.

Now to go wake Jessica, help her throw a few items into a suitcase, pray she didn’t ask too many questions, and get her to go over to Mike’s for the night. He could trust Mike to make certain she was on her way to her family the next day and make sure she didn’t return to the house for any last minute items. After a moment of consideration, he decided he’d get Mike to go with her. Mike wasn’t half bad with a knife, having trained in knife fighting at his dojo. He could give Mike his silver knife for added protection.

Sam was headed for the stairs when the electricity began to flicker. The hum of the refrigerator stuttered, the microwave and VCR both chirped in protest and the lights began to flash on and off. He heard the whump-whoosh, like a gas bar-b-que when it was first lit. The hint of sulfur tickled his nose, followed by the hint of smoke. And Jessica’s sudden scream followed.

“Jessica!” The words ripped from his throat as he shot up the stairs. The orange glow that lit the hallway from their bedroom wasn’t the soft inviting nightlight’s or the romantic candles Jessica sometimes lit for them. He froze at the doorway. Amid the hungry flames a man stood in the room, a long black coat hanging on his tall frame. The dark-haired man turned and gave Sam a lazy smile. His eyes glowed bile yellow and he tossed something toward Sam.

“You might need this, Sammy.” He laughed softly.

Out of instinct Sam caught the object and when he looked back up, a fountain of flame burned where the man had stood moments before. Sam’s gaze frantically scoured the room, looking for Jessica. He shuddered as his dreams came back to him. The dreams he simply thought revolved around the fact it was approaching the anniversary of his mother’s death. His breath locked in his chest as he slowly lifted his head, his hazel eyes going to the ceiling, terrified of what—who he might see.

Jessica’s belly was slit open, blood dripping from the wound, the liquid hissing as it hit the flames below. She softly cried out to him a final time before the flames consumed her. Sam screamed her name again but waves of unnatural heat rolling out of the room beat him back. Tears rolled down his face, her name on his lips, as as he stumbled down the stairs.

He screamed his fury at the heavens. Fire had stolen all those whom he loved; first his mother and brother were taken, then he lost his father to the obsession of finding the one who’d started that fire, and now the woman he loved was burned to ash. His eyes dropped to the object the yellow-eyed man had tossed at him. His gun. The Colt his dad had given him when he was nine, the Colt he kept hidden in the nightstand beside his bed, loaded with blessed silver bullets.

Staring at the gun, he sank to his knees, time stopping for him as he was lost in the reflections made in its gleaming dark metal. He was only vaguely aware of the roar of the spreading fire and the approaching wail of sirens. It would be so terribly easy. Put the muzzle in his mouth, the bitter taste of gun oil on his tongue, and simply pull the trigger.

_You might need this, Sammy._ The words whispered mockingly in his mind.

With a shout of denial he threw the gun violently from him; it skittered across the floor to secrete itself beneath the old couch. Jessica wouldn’t want him to die, not like that. And his father was counting on him.

Tears continued to spill down his face as much from the smoke as from the swelling loss inside him. The acrid smoke brought on a hacking cough and the heat was beginning to build. He’d no idea how long he’d been there, just staring at the gun. He heard the front door crash open. Half-blinded by the smoke, he crawled his way toward the muffled sounds of fire-fighters. He hadn’t gone far when gloved hands grabbed him and hauled him outside into the fresh air. Sobbing, collapsing into the damp grass, Jessica’s name and “I’m sorry” were the only words escaping him until the medics guided Sam to the back of the ambulance and put him on oxygen. He stared almost blankly at the burning house they’d been renting and ignored the medic’s questions, lost in himself as his dreams of a normal life disappeared in a black column of smoke that poured out of the breached roof like an exorcised demon.

* * *

John Winchester pulled his truck into the parking lot of a rest stop off of the highway a little after dawn. It wasn't much, but it had a gas station and a small diner. The latter of which didn't really interest him, though he decided the bathrooms in there were probably marginally cleaner than some random 7-11, and he needed some place to tend to his wounds. The last thing he needed to worry about was an infection of some kind, so hopefully it would have to do.

He grabbed his jacket and put it on, zipping it up to cover the blood stained white undershirt he was wearing, and got out of the truck with a groan. The bleeding had nearly stopped by now from the pressure he'd been applying to the wound, which was a good thing, considering if it hadn't then he'd probably be dead by now. He was still a little unsteady and weak from blood loss as he grabbed a bag from the back of the truck containing first aid supplies and a change of clothes, and went inside the diner.

John knew he looked like hell but thankfully none of the patrons or the waitress paid him any mind as he made his way immediately to the back of the diner. Making sure the men's bathroom was empty before he locked the door. Setting the bag down on the sink as he pulled off his jacket and then his shirt with a sharp wince of pain. Examining the long deep slash across his stomach.

If the knife had cut any deeper his intestines would have probably been spilling out right now. John made a face at that gruesome thought as he grabbed a stack of paper towels and started cleaning the wound. Wishing he had the time to stitch it up properly, but right now he simply didn't. If it wasn't literally a matter of life and death, he probably wouldn't have stopped at all until he reached Bobby's but if he didn't stop the bleeding now then he wasn't going to make it, period.

So he cleaned the wound as best he could with the supplies he had. Gritting his teeth at the burn of the antiseptics, then wrapping bandages around his stomach as tightly as he could to keep pressure on it. He quickly changed out of his dirty and blood stained clothes into clean ones, and took a dose of antibiotics and painkillers. Nothing that would leave him groggy but would at least would take the edge off the pain for a while.

Stuffing the supplies and dirty clothing back into the bag John took a moment to get out his phone and sent a text to both Sam and Bobby. Giving them an update of where he was and an estimate of when he'd be there. Not wasting any more time John grabbed the bag, unlocked the door, and stepped out of the bathroom. Intending to stop briefly at the gas station to fill up the truck's tank before he got back on the road. Instead he found himself frozen in place when the sickly coppery stench of blood slapped him in the face.

The hunter dropped the bag, grabbing his gun out of the back of his jeans, as he slowly walked around the corner. Feeling his stomach clench even before he saw the sight of every single person in the diner now lying in a pool of their own blood. Mere minutes ago they'd been alive. How the hell could this have happened in the short time he'd been in the bathroom? How could he have not heard it happening?

He barely had time to think the question, much less come up with an answer, because the window behind him suddenly shattered inward and a crushing force hit him squarely in the chest as he turned. Knocking him back across the floor, his gun skidding away from him, as all the air was slammed out of his body. An invisible crushing weight pressing down on him, claws digging deep rents into his shoulders and he would have cried out in spite of himself if he could have drawn air into his lungs. The stench of sulfur in his face overwhelming. The vicious demonic growl from the creature he couldn't see confirming, as though there were any doubt before, what his death would be.

Hellhound…

"No. Not yet. After all, we need him alive." John recognized the irritatingly calm, cocky, tone from last night even before the figure of a young man dressed in black entered his line of vision. His vision that was beginning to grow dark around the edges at the moment because of lack of oxygen. The demon with glowing green eyes grinned down at him, the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness, "For now."

* * *

He was still numb when he got off the plane, paid for the car rental, and pointed it towards Bobby’s. He’d tried to call Mike while he was sitting at the airport waiting on his plane to tell him about Jessica, about his dad…and about the pain of the gaping wound in his chest that Jessica's sudden death had left.

When Mike didn’t answer, Sam felt fear coil in his gut. Since the middle of October Sam had been having dreams, not just of Jessica’s death, but of Mike’s as well. Even though dawn was a good few hours away Sam called Jeff, Mike's room-mate. Mike usually called Jeff and let him know if he was coming home that night or not, so Jeff knew if he could have his girlfriend over to stay for the evening. Sam was surprised when Jeff answered almost immediately and by the slur to his words. Jeff didn’t drink, but there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that Jeff was drunk. Sam had closed his eyes then, knowing the truth before Jeff told him. Mike had been killed by a drunk driver the previous evening as he walked across Tenth Street. At least, the driver didn’t remember anything, so surely he was drunk. Not possessed or anything supernatural like that. Just because witnesses saw black smoke pour from the car right after the accident yet there was no sign of fire, no, the driver wasn’t possessed. A demon hadn't run his best friend down. Sam wasn’t able to say anything to Jeff beyond a simple thanks. The wound in his chest widened that much more.

The two people who’d meant the most to him in Palo Alto were gone. Would he soon hear about the deaths of other friends? There wasn’t any way to warn them, not so as they’d believe him at any rate. The only way to save them was to take out whatever was hunting his dad. That yellow-eyed bastard was surely behind it. That demon—Sam was certain that’s what it had to be—had killed his Jessica. Probably killed Mike, too. For those reasons alone he was willing to take up hunting again, if only long enough to put that demon back in hell.

The only thing that helped him make the drive to Bobby’s was knowing that his father was still okay and still ahead of what was hunting him. The text message he received from John was concise, as if he would expect anything less of his dad, but it bolstered him. John was making good time and in a small handful of hours Sam would see his father for the first time in six years. Sure, they would probably be butting heads in a matter of a few days, but that was fine so long as his dad was safe.  
  
When Sam pulled into Bobby’s junkyard, he saw the ’67 Impala sitting out front, gleaming in the morning sunlight as though it was ready to prowl the roads again. A smile tugged at Sam’s lips. His dad had left him a message a few years back that the Impala was at Bobby's and was his when he was ready for a car. Sam told Bobby he didn’t want it, it wasn’t really practical for him while he was in college, and that Bobby could sell it. Instead Bobby hung on to it, keeping it in good running condition. Jessica would think he was…no, Jessica was dead. She wouldn’t think anything anymore, not ever again. Sam felt his throat close and choked back his sob. He had to stay focused on the living. He would mourn her later, in his own way.

Bobby’s old dog, Rumsfeld, lay sprawled across the hood of Bobby’s tow truck. Rumsfeld gave a half-hearted bark at Sam’s arrival, then laid his head back down on the hood, soaking up the warm sunshine. Sam zipped up his coat as he got out of the rental, his breath fogging the air in front of him. It was cold, but not really much colder that it had been in San Francisco. Shouldering his duffel and laptop, Sam grimaced when he caught the lingering smell of smoke and charred wood. His bags, his coat, hell, even his own hair stank of it. Being beside the front door had spared his things of any damage. Sam even forced himself to fish the Colt .45 from beneath the singed and water-logged couch.

“It’s good to see you, Boy!” Bobby practically rushed out of the house. He hugged Sam enthusiastically before pulling back and asked, “Don’t you Winchesters know how to visit without it being an emergency?”

Sam dredged up a smile. “Good to see you too, Bobby. Heard anything from Dad?”

“Text message earlier. Nothing since. Wish that fool would have given you a clue what we was facing.”

“Demon,” Sam said simply as he followed Bobby into the house.

“You sure about that?” Bobby said and waved Sam to set his stuff down by the kitchen table.

“Pretty sure,” Sam said, gratefully accepting the coffee Bobby offered him after he’d placed his bags on the floor. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep. He’d dozed off on the plane and had nightmares so bad that one of the flight attendants had to shake him awake. He’d seen Jessica burning. Mike bloodied and broken. His Dad torn to shreds by hellhounds, and that boy he’d dreamt about since he could first recall his dreams. That boy that had long since become a man. He’d dreamed about him less frequently now, but when he did, he still felt every cut of the whip, every blow of the fist, every slice of the knife, and the overwhelming guilt of failure. When the attendant woke Sam, he’d all but panicked, convinced his dream was true and that his father was dead. When he’d left the plane and turned on the phone, ready to call his father, he discovered John’s text message waiting for him. He’d nearly collapsed then and there in relief.

“Then we plan for demons and everything that might go with them,” Bobby said, walking to his desk where he began sorting through the piles of books he’d already laid out as he’d tried to figure out what he needed to prepare his house for.

Sam sighed heavily, sipping from the mug of hot black coffee. He was exhausted. He would be able to rest soon, though. When his father was here and safe, and they trapped and killed the yellow-eyed bastard that was after him. After _them_.

Sam extracted his cell phone from his pocket. He had told John he’d call him when he reached Bobby’s. Maybe a part of him still felt nervous and needed to reassure himself that his dad was okay. That dream had seemed so real. Too real. Sam glanced at the clock. John ought to be about five or six hours out. On the second ring, he heard the other end answer and felt a swell of relief. His dad was fine.

* * *

When John Winchester regained consciousness he was a little surprised to be waking up at all.

Not that he didn’t feel like… well… like he’d nearly been gutted like a fish and almost ripped apart by a rabid hellhound, but he was still alive. For now. Of course, at the moment it remained to be seen if that was a good thing or not.

_We need him alive._ That’s what the demon had said. But why? He couldn’t help but think. It had killed at least twenty hunters that John knew about. Why did it need _him_ alive? Only one reason came to mind and it chilled his blood to the core to even think it.

_Sam._

John bit off a groan at the throbbing pain in his skull as he looked up where his arms were secured above his head to a large rusted pipe of some kind. The ropes so tight they nearly cut off the circulation to his hands completely.

Blinking sweat and blood out of his eyes he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. He had no idea, he could be anywhere, he didn’t even know how long he’d been unconscious. But from what he could make out he seemed like some kind of old factory. Maybe a paper mill, long abandoned of course.

John heard a low growl from the shadows and froze. He couldn’t see anything moving but he could hear it. The claws scraping against the cold cement floor. Circling him slowly. The hellhound…

“Wakey, wakey.” The now familiar voice came from his right and John’s head snapped towards the demon, his eyes narrowed, and his face set in defiance as it stepped from the shadows where it had probably been waiting all this time. Watching him. It chuckled as it approached him and crouched in front of him. “And here I was afraid you’d miss all the fun.”

“What do you want?” John demanded and the demon shook his head, tsking.

“Don’t ask stupid questions you already know the answer to. That’s just boring.” It said, grinning and John felt his heart beat speed up despite how he tried to keep his turmoil off his face. The demon’s grin only widened however, as though reading his thoughts.

“That’s right, little Sammy. I’m hoping he’ll be more fun. I have to admit, after all I heard of the great ‘John Winchester’ I expected more of a challenge.” It said with a shrug as it stood, and before John could say anything it added, “Don’t speak.” And… John couldn’t. He just couldn’t. What the fuck?

“Well, at least it should be fun pealing the skin off your bones bit by bit while little Sammy watches.” The demon taunted him with a wicked grin, and still John couldn’t say anything. Not even to tell the demon to go to hell. Sam would never fall for this kind of trap. His son was smarter than that. He knew that John wouldn’t want himself used as bait…

“Oh, he’ll come for you all right, old man. There’s nothing a son wouldn’t do for his father.” The demon said, smiling knowingly as though it had just read his thoughts. Maybe it had…

That was when John heard a cell phone ring and he paled when he realized it was his own.

“Right on time.” The demon said with a small laugh as it fished the phone out of its coat pocket and answered, and John could only listen in growing horror. “Hello Sammy. I’m sorry, but Daddy can’t come to the phone right now.”

* * *

Sam felt his breath catch in his chest when he heard the stranger’s voice answer his father’s phone. His father had been captured, or worse. His mind raced with questions and fears. He took little solace that the voice he heard was not the same as the yellow eyed demon that had killed Jessica. That alone brought new questions into his head. If it wasn’t the yellow-eyed demon after his father and him, who was it?

“Is he still alive?” Sam asked, startled by the cold tone he heard in his own voice. He had expected his voice to be shaky, maybe even frightened. Hearing his own voice so strong somehow calmed him. His father’s fate was the most important of the questions in his mind, even though he already knew the answer. The demon—at least he assumed it was a demon—wouldn’t kill John. He’d keep John alive as bait for Sam.

At Sam’s icy voice and the question he asked, Bobby all but knocked over the stack of books he was going through in his rush to get to Sam’s side. His eyes wide with concern, he stood waiting fearfully to learn John’s fate.

* * *

“Hmmm…” The Demon hummed, almost to himself, before a rather twisted smile broke out on its face, making John tense involuntarily. The older man only able to watch as it pulled out a knife and advanced towards him.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” It asked, bringing the phone close to John’s mouth, at the same time thrusting the knife deeply into his forearm. Whatever invisible gag the demon had placed upon John suddenly vanishing and he couldn’t stop the loud cry of pain ripping from his lips as the demon sliced him from his elbow nearly to his wrist.

“Sam, don’t…!” John managed to get out before he was silenced once more.

Still grinning, the demon brought the phone back to his ear.

“Satisfied?”

* * *

Sam’s grip tightened on the phone until his knuckles were white as his face. “Dad…” he whispered, feeling the tears sting his eyes. The horror inside him faded when he heard the demon’s cocky question of whether or not he was “satisfied.”

“Yeah,” Sam said hoarsely, his mouth sudden dry. He gave Bobby as reassuring look as he could, considering. Based on how pale Bobby had gone, Bobby had heard his father’s cry of pain across the phone.

Sam’s voice regained its calm, cold tone. “You’ve got my attention. It’s pointless for me to ask what you want so let’s skip the games, shall we? I want my father released alive, all parts intact, and no question that he’s going to recover from whatever you’ve already done to him. That also means you don’t give him any new injuries.” Sam’s mind flashed to his nightmare of John being torn apart by hellhounds and knew beyond any doubt that such a future might still be his father’s fate. “Not you, not your pets, not your cronies. In exchange, you get me.”

* * *

The demon laughed. Clearly amused, and John’s hands clenched into fists. Feeling blood dripping heavily down his arm and the elder man grit his teeth, even though the bastard was keeping him from speaking, or making any other kind of sound, for that matter.

“My, aren’t we a demanding little bitch?” It said, watching John closely as he said it.

_Don’t, Sam. Whatever you’re doing, don’t…_ John prayed, though he had a feeling that even if he could somehow tell Sam, his son wouldn’t have listened to him anyway. This bastard seemed to know all their weak spots. It had known the mere mention of Sam and he would have contacted his son, trying to warn him. Now it was using him as bait…

But if it had already known where to find Sam, then why would it have gone through all this trouble in the first place to bring the younger man here, just to kill him… Unless, for some reason, it didn’t want Sam dead…

“How about this, Sammy? You’ve got six hours to find your father. After that, I take off a limb every ten minutes you’re late. You’d be surprised how many pieces you can cut off a man, how long it can take. How ‘intact’ your father is when you find him, will be completely up to you. See you soon, Sam.” The demon said, and hung up the phone. John couldn’t help but pale at the threat. No, not a threat, a promise.

* * *

“God Dammit!” Sam exploded, barely restraining himself from launching the cell phone into the nearest wall.

“Sam?” Bobby asked, afraid of the answer. John was alive. He’d heard that for himself in his good friend’s scream. Sam had offered himself up, for which Bobby was ready to slap the boy upside the head for. Apparently, the demon had refused. But what had it told him?

“It caught him Bobby. I’ve got six hours to find him before the bastard starts dismembering him a piece at a time every fucking ten minutes.” In the face of the sudden adrenaline pumping through him, Sam’s exhaustion washed away like a sand castle facing the incoming tide. “I shouldn’t have asked Dad to stay ahead of it. I should have met him somewhere along the way. I knew he was hurt—“

Bobby gripped Sam’s arm. “Easy, Boy. We’ll find him. We’ll save him. This isn’t your fault.”

Sam’s hazel eyes fairly blazed. “It wants me, Bobby. Of course it’s my fault. It had my girlfriend and best friend killed, and now it’s holding Dad, probably torturing him, because of me.”

Bobby’s brow lifted in momentary surprise at the news of Jessica’s death. He knew Sam was planning to ask her to marry him sometime in the upcoming holidays. His face drew into a scowl. “Are you some kinda idjet? It wants you both. Like as not wants you there to watch as it kills your dad, or the other way ‘round. Either way, you’re both gonna end up dead if we don’t take this careful. You get on my computer, get the cell phone company to turn on the GPS in your dad’s phone, find out where he is, and I’ll get Jim Murphy on the line. If you’ve got six hours to get to him, I’d bet my two front teeth that demon’s a good seven hours away, so we gotta move. Ain’t got time for self-pity and recriminations, right or wrong.”

Sam clenched his jaw and nodded mutely. Bobby was right. They had to play this smart and they probably needed to be on the road in a matter of minutes if they had a prayer of reaching his father in time.

* * *

The demon laughed in amusement as it tossed John’s cell phone into his lap. The irony not lost on the hunter. So close, yet utterly useless with his arms tied securely above his head. Just like he was to his son. John Winchester had hunted a lot of things in his life, but until this moment he’d truly only felt hate towards one of them. The thing that had killed his wife and four year old son.

Now…

“Smile, John, little Sammy is on his way. I told you, there’s nothing a good son won’t do for his father.” It said, chuckling again at the death glare he was receiving from the hunter.

“Watch him.” The demon told the hellhound and turned his back on John. Walking away, and taking out its own cell phone. The line ringing twice before picking up.

“Everything is going according to plan. Sam Winchester is on his way as we speak. He’ll be yours before the day is over.”

“Good. You’ve done well. Don’t fail me, Dean.” His father answered, before the line went dead and a chill crawled up the young man’s spine at the unspoken threat. No. He would not fail. He knew well the price of failure.

Sam Winchester would accept the deal, or he would die. Either way, the boy would watch as he stripped the skin from his father’s bones slowly while he was still alive. Dean put away his phone and turned back to the bound hunter with a wide grin. Approaching the man slowly with the knife in his hand.

“Well, we’ve got some time before your son makes his grand entrance. Why don’t we have some fun?”

* * *

Sam followed Bobby outside with a load of supplies. He froze when Bobby headed toward the Impala.

After setting the stack of books on the floorboards of the back seat, Bobby moved out of Sam’s way only to find the young man immobile, staring at the car.

“Don’t just stand there gaping," Bobby snapped. “We’re taking your car. My car ‘t’ain’t big enough to take what we need and give me room to work. And we’re gonna need the back seat to put your Dad in.”

“Right, Bobby,” Sam answered, quickly moving forward to the car. After setting the supplies in back, Sam let his hand run alont the leather of the seat, somewhere deep inside of him it feeling so right at the thought of being back in the Impala. Winchester luck sucked out loud, but the Impala, it had never let them down. It was one thing that Sam had been able to count on as always being there, as always being a safe retreat, of being his _home_.

“Nice to see you again, girl,” Sam whispered to the car, taking an extra moment to breathe in the scent of the old car, to practically reach out with his mind and run ethereal fingers across her black hood. He had missed her. He hadn’t realized until just now, how much he’d missed the old car. A last smile given to the car, he turned back to the task at hand.

It took them nearly twenty five minutes to get the location of the cell phone, get Pastor Jim Murphy caught up on events, gather what Bobby thought they might need, and hit the road.

The sound of the engine, the sound of _that_ engine, brought forth a swell of emotions in Sam. Sprawled in the back seat with his stuffed tiger clutched loosely to him, Sam lulled asleep as his father softly sang along with the rock and roll playing on the radio. Glaring out the passenger’s side window as they drove away from yet another temporary home where Sam had just begun making friends and feeling something close to normal. Barely a teenager, terror gripping Sam as he drove his badly injured father over hilly country roads, praying he’d reach a hospital in time and that his dad wasn’t going to die. Watching his father take the air filter and distributor cap off the engine so he could get to the carburetor and adjust the choke while lecturing Sam about the finer qualiteies of car repair. Moments of happiness sandwiched between anger and frustration and fear. He squeezed the steering wheel just a little. As weird as it was, he knew he belonged in this car and this car was the home he’d never realized he’d had and always dreamed about. No, it wasn’t normal, but what part of his life had ever been normal?

“Need more coffee?” Bobby asked, startling Sam out of his thoughts. Bobby reached over the front seat and knocked a thermos into Sam’s shoulder before dropping it onto the seat beside him.

“Only if you’ve got a bottle I can piss in so we don’t have to stop,” Sam answered. He’d already finished off one thermos of Bobby’s thick as oil and twice as strong black coffee. At this point he’d been up for something like thirty hours. He’d pulled all nighters numerous times through his years at college. Between Bobby’s coffee and the trickle of constant adrenaline into his system, he was definitely awake. When he crashed, he was going to crash hard, like twenty hours of sleep hard, but that promise of sleep was a good couple hours off. If he was still alive in a couple hours. No, he berated himself, that wasn’t the way to think. He could hear his father’s voice tell him, “If you think you’ve lost the battle before it’s even begun, then you have.” They were going to win this one. They had to. The alternative was too painful to bear, especially right after the loss of Jessica and Mike.

Sam glanced at the mile marker. It was a few more hours to Carrollton Creek, Iowa, where the demon was holding his father. He’d been pushing the car hard at any opportunity, trying to make certain they reached the place in time, before demon-guy started playing carve the Thanksgiving Day turkey with his father. He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Bobby hunched over, reading or mixing something, he couldn’t really tell.

“How’s it going?” Sam asked. He gave a sigh and grabbed the thermos sitting beside him. More coffee probably wasn’t a bed idea. Bobby had made Sam eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich earlier, which in retrospect was a good thing even if Sam hadn’t been hungry. He needed something in his stomach to keep the battery acid coffee from eating its way through his stomach wall.

Bobby gave a snort. “You ever try mixing exact components together in a car that’s moving ninety miles an hour?”

Sam gave a soft laugh. “Not for about seven years.”

Bobby glanced up, meeting Sam’s gaze in the rear view mirror and grinned. “Yeah, I s’pose you have. I’ve about got our hex bags finished so that demon won’t see us until we’re smack dab in front of him. Super Soakers filled with—“

“What?” Sam interrupted. “Super Soakers? As in water guns?”

“Yeah. These are the battery operated type, and hold about half a gallon of holy water. These babies reach a good thirty feet. Don’t know ‘bout you, but I like hitting demons from that far away with holy water instead of having to stare ‘em in the face fores I do it. Jim’s bringing the silver buckshot to nail any hellhounds with and make them visible. Once they’re visible, we’ll have about twenty seconds to fill ‘em full of cold iron. They go back invisible and the iron won’t do a damned thing to ‘em. Got the blanket with the devil’s trap printed on it that we can toss over him if nothing else. Got us each a tranq gun. Gunshot to the chest might not put a demon down, but tranqs are tranqs. Least ways, it slows them down long enough to get hold of ‘em. You want this one that’s got your dad captured, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said grimly. “I’ve got to know if it’s the yellow eyed one that killed Jessica. If it isn’t, who’s the boss? The one we’re after or yellow eyes, or some other demon? How many are under this one’s orders? Are they going after more of my friends? How many are going after other hunters? We need intel, Bobby.”

“Once we get it?”

“Send that son-of-a-bitch straight back to Hell. You’ve got the exorcism rituals?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods, Boy? Course I got ‘em. But don’t tell me that genius brain of yours has forgotten them?” Bobby scoffed.

“It’s been six years. To the day. Twenty-two years since Mom and Dean died, six years since I left, half a day since Jessica died.” Sam snapped. Seeing Bobby’s pained expression, Sam winced. He wasn’t angry at Bobby. He was tired, scared, angry, hungry, and hurting so badly on the inside that he wasn’t sure he’d find a way to love ever again. “Sorry, Bobby. I just want to make sure I don’t screw it up if I end up doing the ritual.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Bobby said softly. He leaned forward and dropped a leather thong over Sam’s head that had a bag hanging on it. “Hex bag so’s they don’t see us coming, and with it a bit of something in it that will keep you from being possessed. That hex bag is strong enough it oughtta keep any demon from even catching a whiff of you or your thoughts.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Hesitantly, Sam said, “Whatever happens, I want to tell you—“

“Don’t be giving that final “I love you” speech.” Bobby’s voice turned gruff. “You’re like the nephew I never had. Like as want to cuff you upside the head as give you a bear hug. This ain’t the final battle. We’re walking out of this with you and your dad both alive and kicking. And that demon bastard in chains.” Bobby gave a sudden grin. “And with one of these 'round his neck.” Bobby held up a leather thong with a black leather pouch, silver runes stitched all over it.

“What’s that?” Sam asked, accepting being brought up short on what he wanted to say to Bobby. Bobby knew how he felt. He’d called him Uncle Bobby for about as long as he could remember, and that spoke volumes. Taking another swig of coffee, Sam grimaced at its bite. He was going to have to eat another sandwich soon or the demon would hear him coming because he was moaning in pain from too much strong coffee and no food in his stomach.

“Well, it’s something I’ve been working on for awhile. Ain’t been field tested yet, though. Figured now was as good a test as any.”

“What’s it do? What’s it supposed to do, at least?”

Bobby leaned forward so he was right beside Sam, holding the bag up so Sam could see it better. “It’ll keep a demon locked in its body, keep it from using that psychic mumbo-jumbo crap, and acts like a hex bag so other demons can’t find it. Can’t stop it from casting spells, but no spell should be able to touch the bag itself. Once on, it won’t come off without a pretty elaborate removal ritual and seeing as how demons aren’t real keen on cleansing rituals to remove curses and all, pretty unlikely it’ll be able to get it off.”

“That’s impressive. If it works.”

“It oughtta be. Been working on it for fifteen years,” Bobby settled back into the seat. “Some of the stuff in the bag has a limited shelf life. After, I dunno, a few weeks, maybe a couple months, it might peter out. The hex bag part will still work, but not so sure about the other stuff. Don’t figure we’ll need it more than a couple days, anyhow. With one of these things on a demon’s neck, it’ll be a helluva lot easier to relocate a demon if you have to. Sometimes where you catch one ain’t always convenient for holding one.”

Sam thought for a minute. “Fifteen years ago, that would be about the time of that demon possession out at Big Bend.”

Bobby chuckled. “And what a clusterfuck that one was. We were doing good until that damned thunderstorm rolled in. Decided then and there us hunters needed some way of keeping a demon under control while on the move that didn’t involve tossing it in a trunk with devil’s traps on it. This probably ain’t perfect, but oughtta come close. How we doing on time?”

Sam glanced at his watch and felt his stomach clench. “It’s going to be close.”

* * *

John had quickly learned a new meaning pain over the next four hours.

That was how long the bastard had ‘played’ with him until the demon had finally gotten bored listening to his screams. Listening to him choke on his own blood. Giving him a chance to rest until his son arrived. At least he assumed that’s what the bastard had said at that point the elder man had barely been able to remember his own name, much less understand what the demon was saying to him before he’d finally passed out.

He was awake now though, much to his regret. The demon had left him hanging, like a piece of meat, from the old rusty chains attached to the ceiling and John almost laughed at the irony of that. Considering he was sure that’s about what he resembled right now.

Cold dry blood covered him from nearly head to toe. Sticky and wet beneath his feet that barely touched the floor, leaving all the weight on his bound arms, though that discomfort was almost laughable considering what else had been done to him.

The demon had started ‘slow’, using a short cropped whip on him till his back was a bloody mess. Then to keep him from bleeding to death while he worked, he’d cauterized the wounds by heating the blade of his knife and pressing it against his flesh. The smell still churned his stomach, even now, hours later.

At least John could only assume it was hours later. He had no idea at this point. It hadn’t been six hours yet, he knew that much. Since the demon hadn’t yet begun dismembering him. Given how much fun it had before, he had a feeling the bastard wouldn’t have hesitated starting in on him again once the six hour mark rolled around. Even if he was still unconscious.

The hellhound prowled around him, growling hungrily. The smell of his blood must be driving the creature insane, but it still obeyed and left him alone. For now. John couldn’t help but wonder if once the demon started cutting pieces off of him if he’d give it to his pet to eat. Maybe he was losing his mind a little, since he found that idea morbidly funny.

There was no sign of its master though, and that made John very nervous.

* * *

On one side of the paper mill were residences, on the other side train tracks, with more residences past the parking lot. Some sort of city building sat across from truck loading docks, and outside the other end of the mill trees with a small creek meandering to the river offered some measure of cover. Jim had circled the building at a distance, but had been able to confirm the black truck in the parking lot was John’s. Jim had identified a door near the end of the building furthest from the parking lot as a potential good entry point. Disturbingly, there were no signs of guards anywhere. There was no one watching the mill either, as best as the three hunters could tell.

They made their way to the door and got inside with little problem. Not far in they found a demon guard and tranqed him, gagged and bound him, and encircled him with salt. They didn’t want the demon alerting its boss they were there. Two more guards later, they found John hanging from chains, barely recognizable beneath the blood that coated him and gathered in a dark pool beneath his feet. They couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead.

Sam glanced at his watch. He had less than five minutes before the six hours were up. So where the hell was the demon?

The three hunters had pounded out a few possible scenarios and responses to said scenarios. With no demon present, John was obviously bait to draw Sam out. They could try to wait for the demon to start in on John, but that would put the demon at John’s side and they wanted to avoid that.

Sam gave a nod to Bobby and tucked the tranquilizer gun in the back waistband of his jeans. It was Sam’s job to draw the demon out. If the demon sent a hellhound to attack Sam, Sam had a silver knife drawn and a second in a wrist sheath, considering a gun to be dicey protection against an invisible beast that could be on him in a matter of moments. He had a gun in his chest holster, loaded with cold iron bullets. None of it might do any good if the demon used his psychic powers to toss Sam about and pin him to something, even if just to the floor. With that in mind, he carried a super soaker in his other hand. They’d modified Bobby’s binding bag idea and filled it with a mixture of the spell components in a solution of mineral oil so it would stick to the demon. If Sam could nail him with it, it ought to reduce the demon’s psychic capabilities, maybe even suspend them briefly. Odds were the demon would figure it was holy water and some level of threat so Sam didn’t know if he’d even have a chance to try it out.

Sam walked between the large machinery and approached his father’s too still form. Bobby had warned Sam it was possible his father was possessed and to be careful, not to trust John until they could be certain he wasn’t. As Sam drew nearer to his father, he heard the scrape of claws on concrete and the low growl of a hellhound. Sam slowed, listening for it moving toward him. About fifteen feet away from where his father hung, the smell of burned flesh hit Sam square in the face and brought up brutal memories of the all too recent fire. Sam shuddered and had to swallow back his bile. Now was not the time to end up on all fours heaving his guts out.

“Dad?” Sam called out, watching the shadows for the demon, listening to the growl of the hellhound, and praying his dad gave him a response.

* * *

John lifted his head slowly when he heard the sound of his son’s voice. Blinking the sting of blood and sweat out of his eyes and barely managing to focus on Sam in the dim light. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if what he could see, what he had heard, was real or only his imagination. A hallucination, or trick of some kind.

“Sam?” The elder man whispered hoarsely disbelief coloring his voice, barely above a whisper. His throat still raw from his constant screams earlier.

It had been six years since he’d last seen his son. Since he’d last spoke to him face to face. Sam had barely been a man when he’d left the hunt, left him. Left because his son hated him so much.

He’d begun to think he’d never see or speak to Sam ever again. Having lost count how many times he’d fallen asleep after a bottle of jack thinking over and over on the mistakes he’d made. On how he’d lost both of his boys. Now that he was looking at his son again, here, now, the only thing he could wish was that Sam hated him enough that he’d never come for him.

“Sam… Get out…” The words were barely out of his mouth before he felt his bones starting to twist painfully under an invisible pressure that made him scream. So loud he’d barely heard the roar of the hellhound that followed as it launched itself at his son.

* * *

His father was moving, was lifting his head. Thank God. Sam had to strain to hear his father’s words, then suddenly his father was screaming but John’s screams were almost lost in the hellhound’s roar.

Sam dropped the water gun and braced himself for the hellhound’s attack. To dodge meant he wouldn’t know where the creature was. He had to accept that he was going to take damage in order to kill it. The hellhound’s paws hit his chest with enough force to knock Sam to the ground and it’s right paw dug bloody furrows down Sam’s chest. Sam cried out as he shoved the silver blade deeply into the hellhound. The howl of pain from the hound was deafening. Black spiderwebs radiated out and away from the blade the the visage of the drooling vicious dog blinked in and out of view. Sam kept his left arm up, his hand barely holding back the hellhound’s slavering mouth from ripping out his throat. He pulled free the gun from its holster and fired off a half dozen bullets into the beast’s broad chest. The hellhound roared its agony before the red light faded from its demonic eyes. Sam shoved the hellhound off him, slid the gun back into its holster, and extracted the knife from the hellhounds’s dead body. Blood soaked his chest and tears of pain trickled from his eyes. He hoped this would be over before the adrenaline left his system. When it did, he was going to be in agony from the clawing.  
  
He reached for the water gun, hearing his father still moaning in pain. “Too afraid to face me, Demon? Have to send your bitch to try to take me down?” he sneered.

* * *

A low chuckle broke from the darkest shadows from one of the catwalks above as the demon finally showed itself. Stepping into the light and offering up a small amount of applause as though it were enjoying the show.

“Hardly, hunter.” He replied. Grinning devilishly as the gun Sam was reaching for flew half way across the room by itself. At the same time several old rusted machines around the room began to tremble and groan in protest.

In a scream of twisting metal they suddenly flew across the room towards the doorway that Sam had entered through. Crashing into the wall in an unmovable heap and cutting the younger man off from the other hunters. From beyond the room they were in more vicious demonic howls could be heard and the demon grinned wider.

“That should keep your friends busy for a while, don’t you think?” It asked in amusement as it jumped down from above, landing in a crouch behind John and standing slowly. The demon’s eyes flickering briefly towards the bound hunter and the elder man convulsed and moaned louder in pain.

“I have to admit, I was looking forward to taking your father apart piece by piece. But… it’ll be even more fun with you here to watch, Sammy boy.”

* * *

A combination of fear and fury began to swell in Sam, fear for himself, fear for his father and friends, and fury against the son-of-a-bitch who threatened them all. That smirk, those intense eyes, the sheer arrogance of his swagger notched the fury up to a maelstrom of emotions.

When the demon stepped fully into the light, when Sam got a good look at the demon's face, the storm of anger building all but withered and he audibly gasped, nearly dropping his knife in his shock. It was him. The boy—the man--from his dreams. Sam stared in shock, the man tangible and real before him. The man who wasn't a demon, but a human, Sam was all but certain. The person who Sam had comforted all their lives after the boy suffered beatings or a long round of torture for reasons unknown to Sam. Little more than a ghost to the boy, only a bare light touch was ever possible between them. Frustratingly they couldn't even talk to one another. Sam was able to offer only his presence as comfort, though he could lightly stroke the boy's tear-streaked face and tell him silently that it was okay, that it was going to be okay, and that he wasn't alone. When Sam had been young, he had kissed the boy who was a bit older than himself, as young children are prone to do. As they grew older, the boy still begged for the feather kisses from him, finding comfort in the light brush of their lips. Sam had obliged in the innocent kisses, having little other way to communicate his care other than through his presence. He had always felt he and the dream-boy were kindred spirits, but he'd never _really_ believed the boy was anything more than some sort of extension of his own sub-conscious. Not until now.

"My God, it's you," Sam whispered, slowly approaching the man, heedless of the danger, the moans from his father a vague and distant thing outside his intense focus on the black-clad youth. He wanted nothing more to touch the man, to reassure himself he wasn't going bum-fuck crazy.

* * *

The power that had been threatening to twist his bones apart still inside his body abruptly faded and the sudden unexpected relief almost made the elder hunter pass out again. Fear for his son however kept him from doing so, and John forced himself to open his eyes. Forced himself to focus, to see what the hell was happening.

Hearing his son gasp, seeing the shock on Sam's face as his son stared at the demon was surprising enough. But when John managed to turn his head just enough. Catching sight of the demon from the corner of his eye and watching as the overly pleased smirk vanished from its face entirely to be replaced by a frown of confusion that matched his son's John didn't know what the hell to think.

The feeling was mutual.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Dean could only stare at the young man in front of him as the hatred in the hunter's expression suddenly vanished and was replaced by an expression he simply couldn't define. Hatred he could understand. This… he didn't know what this was.

A memory long buried. A dream… already half forgotten even as he woke. Feelings he didn't know the names of because he'd never felt them outside of those brief glimpses while he slept yet making him wish he never had to wake up.

It's you…

Sam stepped forward, and whatever spell that had been woven broke. Dean's eyes narrowing in fury as he threw up a hand between them and sent a raw burst of power at the younger man that hit him with enough force to knock him on his back several feet away.

His father had given him an order, and he would obey. Sam Winchester was one of his father's children. One of Azazel's chosen. It was time for him to wake up to his potential. It was time for him to tap into the power that his father had given him. Then the boy would swear obedience to his father or he would die. Dean would not fail.

"Not smart, Sammy boy." Dean admonished, the smirk firmly back in place, wearing it like armor as he slid his own knife from the sheath at his hip. "Get up. Or are you going to let your father die like you let everyone else around you?"

* * *

The sudden psychic blow tore Sam free of his shock as it threw him to the ground. Sliding across the concrete floor on his back, the tranquilizer gun dug painfully into his spine. Groaning, Sam shifted himself off his back and onto all fours as his head rang painfully. The threat to his father, the accusation of his failure to Jessica, Mike, and even his mother and brother, cut through his haze, all rational thought evaporating in an instant as every fiber of his being filled with rage. His gaze cut to the smirking man and Sam’s face reflected nothing but wrath. Yanking his handgun free of its holster he fired several shots at the man.

The man laughed and brushed the bullets aside with a wave. Taking a step closer to Sam’s father, Sam watched in horror as the man buried the blade in John’s thigh and pulled the blade toward the floor. John’s scream cut Sam to his very core. No, his father would not die! No matter what it took, he’d save his father!

“Stop it you son-of-a-bitch!” Sam seethed. Tossing the useless gun aside, Sam reached down to the floor for the water gun, not even realizing it was a good ten feet away. It didn’t matter. It was suddenly in his hand.

Hazel eyes turned steel grey as he charged the man hurting his father; Sam squeezed the trigger and the infused mineral oil spewed toward the man. Berating Sam for thinking holy water would work on him, the man flicked his hand as if to deflect the water. Sam focused all his will, refusing to let that happen. He couln't afford to let that happen. The stream of liquid hit the green eyed man full in the face. Sam's attention shifted to the knife in the man's hand that was still buried in his father's thigh. The knife flew out of the man's grasp to clatter several feet away on the ground. Sam continued to charge, the water pistol dropped as Sam drew his spare blade from its sheath; murder was in his eyes.

* * *

Everything had been going according to plan, and then all of a sudden, everything was not. It was his own fault really. Dean should have learned by now. Never underestimate an opponent.

The bullets the young man had fired at him were nothing more than annoyances. Like flies, easily swatted aside, and Dean couldn’t help feeling a flash of disappointment. He’d expected much more from the Winchester boy. But if he needed another push…

The scream of pain John Winchester made when he jammed his knife deeply into the elder man’s leg was satisfying, but not as satisfying as the look of horror that passed over the boy’s face. Hatred and fear blending together and that was when Dean felt it. The power deeply buried inside the younger man stirring, fighting to break free.

Yes…

He grinned as the young hunter’s toy slid across the floor of its own violation right into Sam’s hand. That was more like it. However he could only laugh when the younger man actually fired at him with the holy water pistol. That had always been a hunters biggest mistake. Assuming he was nothing more than a common demon. He was anything but, and such simple tricks wouldn’t do him any kind of harm. The only reason he bothered trying to deflect it at all was because he didn’t feel like getting wet.

But that was when everything changed. When the Winchester boy somehow managed to counteract his power, something he shouldn’t have been able to do, not with so little practice using his own powers. Causing the water to hit him square in the face, making him sputter in annoyance. One second he was wiping at his face with his free hand realizing the oily substance wasn’t water at all, and the next his knife was torn from his grasp.

With a growl he easily deflected the younger man charging at him, jumping back and twisting out of the reach of the knife the young hunter tried to plunge in his chest. Yet when he tried to summon his power to throw him back again, he couldn’t.

No…

“What have you done!” Dean yelled, his eyes widening with horror and understanding, but his fear had nothing to do with the young man, or even the hunters within the structure. Vicious howls erupted throughout the complex in unison. The hellhounds were no longer in his control and they were coming straight for the smell of blood.

* * *

Sam was all but beyond rational thought.

"I've castrated you." Sam growled, pleased by the horror he saw on the man's face and, realizing the man was momentarily distracted, knew this was his one chance. That mineral oil infusion wouldn’t last long. Sam covered the distance between them with a few long strides. He punched the man across the jaw hard enough to throw him back a good couple feet and the man stumbled and fell. For as hard as he'd hit the man, Sam should have felt it in his knuckles, but he didn't. It was as if he hadn't even touched him.

When the man started to push himself up, Sam snarled as he approached him, "You stay down."

The man's arms seem to give out and he collapsed back to the floor, his look a strange combination of terror and rage. Sam slammed his booted foot into the man's ribcage, eliciting a pain-filled grunt. Extracting the black rune bag from his pocket, Sam put the thong it hung from over the man's head, rolled the man onto his stomach and cuffed his arms behind him. He kicked the man in the ribs a second time.  
  
Groans from his father pulled his attention away from the man he wanted to beat to a bloody pulp and brought his focus to his badly injured dad. Rivulets of blood trickled down John's leg. Poorly cauterized slashes covered his back, his arms, his legs, even his face. No part of him seemed untouched and dried blood coated him. How was his father even still alive? Because the man had been careful not to kill John, not until he could kill John in front of his son.

Sam tried to figure out a way to lower his father to the ground. How the hell had his father been hung from the pipes in the first place? There was no winch to raise or lower him, no ropes, no ladders, or anything usable anywhere in view. Sam had to find a way to get his father down, had to get him to a hospital, and quickly.  
Wrapping his arms around his father's hips, Sam thought if he could lift his father enough maybe the chains would come free of the pipes. It was a false hope he feared but he had to do something. As soon as his father was in his arms, the chains seem to come loose by themselves. Sam told himself it must have been tension that kept them hooked. John screamed as Sam gently laid his father on the concrete. Tears streamed down his face, brought on by causing his father more pain. "I'm sorry, Dad," Sam whispered.

Sam swiveled his head to face the man when the man kept demanding something of Sam, something about the baying of dogs Sam heard growing closer.

* * *

Dean was more than familiar with pain. All his life he'd endured horrible beatings, sometimes for no other purpose than to train him to become accustomed to it. Teaching him how to endure and function through any type of pain he might endure. His entire body a network of scars, resulting from this training. So the powerful unrestrained psychic blow that knocked him onto back, splitting open his cheek and lip, did not even daze him, only enraged him, when it might have knocked someone else unconscious.

"You fool!" He growled in rage when the younger man managed to pin him to the ground with his powers. His words cutting off with a grunt, gritting his teeth at the vicious kicks to his ribs, feeling at least one snap under the powerful blows.

This shouldn't be happening. The Winchester boy was wielding his powers like a blunt instrument. On pure instinct, and he seemed to have no idea what he was doing. He shouldn't have had the power to match Dean. Not yet at least. Instead the boy had somehow rendered him helpless by whatever spell he'd blasted him with, and now they were all going to die because of it!

Dean could feel the hellhounds coming closer. He could feel their rage. Their hunger. He could feel them but he couldn't touch their minds. He couldn't control them. Couldn't turn them back. Couldn't send them back to hell.

He looked towards the two men, the Winchester boy lowering his bloody father to the ground. The fool covering himself with the other man's blood. He had no idea. No fucking idea, and the stupid boy wasn't even listening to him!

"Winchester! God damn it, Winchester! The hellhounds! I can't control them! They're coming and I can't turn them back! They'll tear us all apart! Let me go me or we're all going to die!"

* * *

Sam heard the not-demon’s pleas, his orders, as the words tried to percolate through to Sam’s consciousness. Sam could barely think beyond the need to save his father. His world had all but narrowed to that single goal. It was odd, he mused with detachment, how his brain seemed wrapped up in some sort of trance.

The immovable pile of metal that blocked the doorway, that cut Sam off from his backup, reverberated with blow after blow from the hellhounds, until a screech of metal indicated the machines weren’t quite so immovable after all. The baying of the hounds grew in intensity, almost frantic as their hunger drove them forward. More shrieks of metal and the hellhounds broke through. Sam slowly turned his gaze from the not-demon to the approaching hounds.

He could see them. Huh. Somewhere in his befuddled mind popped up the idea it was a bad thing that he could see them. They were coming for his father. They were coming to hurt his father. No, he wasn’t going to allow that. They belonged in the hell that spawned them.

He stood up, his father’s blood mixed with that from his own wounds covering his chest. He felt something within him rise up, a dark power that called to him to embrace it. He didn’t give a shit. He just wanted his father safe.

“Go back to hell, you fucking mongrels!” Sam shouted at the hounds bearing down on him and his father at full speed. His voice seemed to echo outside as well as inside his skull. He screamed and his hands went to his head as he collapsed to his knees and blood poured from his nose, white pain engulfing him. He whimpered softly as he tried to claw through that pain. He knew the hellhounds were gone. He knew his father was safe. Vaguely he heard the shouts of Bobby and Jim as the white pain shifted to darkness and he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

Dean watched in horror as the hellhounds ripped past the barricade, rabid and frothing at the mouth for the taste of blood and flesh. Ready to tear all of them apart limb from limb. Even their former ‘master’. Though only one thought repeated over and over in his mind.

He had failed.

He was not afraid of death. Because he knew there were things far worse than death. He knew first hand. He’d seen glimpses of hell, courtesy of his father. Worse than any torture he’d ever experienced in his entire life, and he knew that’s what would await him.

For his failure.

Oddly enough as he braced himself to be torn to pieces, though the raging hellhounds were barely feet away from him, from all of them, they never touched him. That didn’t stop a different pain from ripping though him perhaps even more intense than the jaws of the hellhounds would have been.

The blast of uncontrolled power from Sam hit his mind with the force of a freight train and tore through him without mercy. He was powerless against it, his defenses stripped from him by magic, and he almost didn’t recognize his own screams even though he’d heard them often enough. His back arching from the floor as it felt like his mind and body was being incinerated in white hot fire.

Then he was falling. His mind shutting down as he succumbed to the blessed darkness he’d often escaped into as a child. His only escape from the torment of his life.

***

Things hadn’t been looking all that great from the moment the other two hunters had been cut off from Sam and John. The fact that they’d managed to hold their own for this long against half a dozen hellhounds was more of a miracle or just plain stupid luck than anything else. But when the beasts had suddenly broken off their attack Jim Murphy and Bobby Singer knew the shit was only about to hit the fan.

They were right.

They’d raced back to the room where they’d last seen Sam and John, pushing their way past the gaps in the twisted machinery just in time to watch the younger man collapse boneless next to his equally motionless father. Bobby ran to the father and son, checking the vitals of each in turn, while Jim kept his guns trained on the demon that was also unmoving.

“Their alive!” Bobby announced with obvious relief, and the other hunter sighed and muttered a soft prayer of thanks even though it was obvious that both men needed medical attention.

There was no argument that John and Sam needed to get to a hospital as quickly as possible, the argument came when they had to decide what to do with the demon now. They’d had a plan, of course, but things had changed drastically since that plan had been made. Jim argued that they couldn’t risk keeping the demon alive now, it was too dangerous. Bobby agreed, but he also still agreed with Sam that they needed the intel that this demon could provide to keep other hunters and even Sam’s friends from being killed. So they agreed that Jim would take the demon to the old abandoned church, they’d picked out beforehand, and Bobby would take Sam and John to the nearest hospital.

They carried John and Sam to the impala first, and then Bobby quickly helped Jim secure the demon as well as possible in ropes and chains and throw him in the spell protected trunk of Jim’s car. After seeing the pastor off Bobby quickly got into the impala and floored it to the emergency room of the nearest hospital.

John had been taken immediately into intensive care, and he still hadn’t heard word back on the state of his old friend. Sam’s wounds had been much less severe, thank god, though he was still unconscious and the doctors weren’t sure why, which caused Bobby no small amount of worry.

Giving the doctors the Winchester’s fake insurance information was easy enough though coming up with a convincing lie to explain the two men’s injuries was impossible, so he’d told the truth to a point. That John had been kidnapped, and when he and Sam had managed to find the kidnappers and free him Sam had been injured as well.

Bobby had given his statement to the police, and by then Sam’s wounds had been treated and the younger man moved to a room to recover. Unfortunately John was still in surgery. Now all Bobby could do was sit by Sam’s hospital bed and wait for news.

* * *

Sam blinked open his eyes, a dull throb still pounding in his temples. He felt like he’d been thrashed to within an inch of his life. Every part of him ached. “Jessica?” he murmured as he struggled to chase the cobwebs from his mind.

“Sam!” Bobby said, straightening, the car magazine he was reading tumbling from his hands and to the linoleum floor. He rested his hand on Sam’s arm. Sam had come away with some bad bruises on his back and face, and several stitches from the three long gashes on his chest, but otherwise was in good health the doctors had told him. Bobby reassured himself that Sam was sleeping for so long because the boy had been up for something like two days straight. It wasn’t any wonder he’d been out cold for over a day.

Sam shook his head minutely, trying to sort out his thoughts. He looked around and identified immediately that he was in a hospital. When he saw Bobby, puzzlement crossed his features until the events of the past hours returned to him in a painful flash. He shut his eyes. Jessica. Oh, God, Jessica.

Swallowing back his emotional pain, he refocused on Bobby. “Dad?” he asked hoarsely. He motioned to the glass of water by Bobby.

Bobby handed him the water. “Your daddy came out of surgery a few hours ago. He’s bad, he’s in ICU, but he’s stable and they think he’ll come through this okay, given time. John’s tough. He’ll be fine, Sam. How do you feel?”

Sam gave a half shrug after he downed the entire glass of water. “I ache, have a headache, my chest hurts, my arms are sore, and my lower back feels pretty bruised up. Other than that? Just great,” he said sarcastically. His brow furrowed. “What happened to the guy?”

“Jim took him to that old church. Wanted to just fill his meatsuit full of lead and banish him back to Hell, but you’re right. We need intel.”

Chewing over Bobby’s words, Sam said, “Bobby, he’s not a demon. At least, I don’t think he is.”

Bobby scoffed. “Sure, and Bo Derek and I are having dinner tonight.”

Sam glared at his friend. “Call Jim. Make sure he’s not counting on a devil’s trap to hold him.” When he saw Bobby’s reluctance, he threw back his covers. “Fine. I’ll do it,” Sam huffed. Why the hell did everyone question him? Dad always did, and other hunters never gave “the kid” any credit for having half a brain.

“Whoa there, Boy,” Bobby said, putting his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Okay, okay, I’ll call him,” Bobby said, seeing that Sam wouldn’t back down.

“I’m going to get dressed,” Sam said. “I want to see Dad then I want you to take me to the church.”

Giving him a patient smile, Bobby said, “Don’t you think we ought to wait for the doctor and let him decide when you’re ready to get out of here?”

Sam bristled . “How long have I been out?” he demanded of his friend.

“About a day,” Bobby said.

“In twenty four hours I lost my best friend, my girlfriend, and almost my dad. I am not sitting here when I could be getting information from that bastard that might save other friends or hunters.” Sam disconnected himself from the various lines he was hooked up to. “Get my clothes,” he told Bobby.

Seeing that Winchester set to his jaw, Bobby knew there would be no dissuading Sam. Sam was just like his Daddy. Once his mind was set, his mind was set. He went to the closet and retrieved Sam’s belongings, tossing them onto the bed. “Sam, what happened in there?”

Sam pulled his clothes out of the bag and caught the faint whiff of smoke still clinging to his clothes and felt a new rush of pain inside him. His Jessica was dead.

Clenching his jaw, Sam tried to recall just what did happen. The events in the mill were pretty vague to him after the man had tossed him halfway across the room and taunted him that he wouldn’t be able to save his father. A few things were clear and he stuck to those facts. “We fought. He knifed Dad in the leg. I managed to hit him with the mineral oil, and it was pretty much over.”

“We had half a dozen hellhounds on our asses and suddenly they came tearing after you. What happened to them?”

Sam gave a shrug. “Back home to their master, I guess.” A faint recollection gnawed inside him. Sam had sent them away. Somehow. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how and he sure as hell didn’t want to bring it up to Bobby. Not until he had a better grasp on those foggy memories.

Bobby eyed him suspiciously. He gave a harrumph. “I’ll call Jim and get the doctor. You get dressed.”

After Bobby left and Sam got on his clothes, he sank down onto the bed. What _had_ happened? He’d…he’d moved things. With his mind. Like he had demonic powers. He shuddered. No. He was Sam Winchester, son of John and Mary Winchester, and he was nothing more than a law student and one-time hunter. That was it. Nothing more. He couldn’t be anything more. He just couldn’t.

* * *

Dean woke slowly, surprised to be waking at all.

Surprised to be alive.

Not that he was all that pleased to be waking at all given his head felt like it had been split open from the inside with an axe. Not to mention how his broken ribs sent sharp pains through his chest with every breath he took.

But he’d endured far worse before.

He forced his eyes open to look around the room he was in slowly. He was alone. In a basement of some kind. Nowhere he recognized. That was his first clue that he wasn’t in demon hands, that, and that he hadn’t woken in much more pain than he was in. His next clue was the devil’s trap drawn underneath the chair he was bound to.

The hunters then. Why hadn’t they killed him when they had the chance? Whatever the reason, Dean decided quickly he would not be around long enough for them to regret their mistake. He would escape, kill the other hunters, and bring Sam Winchester to his father as he was ordered. Perhaps if he did his father would forgive his earlier failure. Or if not, perhaps his punishment would be a little more lenient.

Dean tugged against the handcuffs that bound his arms tightly behind him to the chair. Nothing else. Perhaps because they assumed the devils trap would be enough to contain him. That, and whatever spell they’d woven into the charm that hung around his neck that prevented him from using his powers. That hardly meant he was helpless, however.

Setting his jaw the young man twisted his hands around in the tight cuffs, gripping his right thumb and quickly dislocated it. A small grunt of pain the only sound that escaped him as he began quickly working the cuff off of his hand. Uncaring how the metal bit cruelly into his flesh, tearing skin and drawing blood. His blood slicked the metal, after all, helping to ease the way until it finally slipped from his hand.

He stood up from the rickety wooden chair and turned it over. Snapping off one of the legs, satisfied he would be able to use the sharp end as a weapon if he needed, and started for the stairs. Hearing a noise from above he quickly hid in the shadows underneath them. Remaining perfectly still as one of the hunters from before descended. He was speaking on the phone with someone.

As soon as the hunter saw he was missing from the chair and devil’s trap the man turned, a gun already in his hand, but Dean was quicker. Dodging the first shot aimed at him he kicked out and swept the older man off of his feet. The hunter landing hard and Dean was on top of him in an instant. The older man barely managing to deflect the sharp piece of wood Dean lunged at him with, burying deep into the hunter’s shoulder rather than his chest as he’d intended.

The hunter struck out blindly, landing a lucky blow to the side of his head, making it explode in agony, dazing him, as Dean fell back off the older man. Rolling to his feet, and cursing as a second shot from the hunter’s gun grazed his left side. The older man was aiming a third shot for his head when Dean broke off the attack and ran up the stairs.

The hunter swore loudly as he followed close behind. But Dean wasn’t running. At the top of the stairs he rounded the door and waited for the other man to emerge and the young man struck out. Sending the hunter toppling back down the stairs, but not before the man got off two more shots. One hitting Dean high in the chest, near his left shoulder. The second blowing through the meat of his right leg causing him to stumble and fall.

Hot blood pouring over his fingers from the wound in his chest darkness quickly began to crowd the edges of his vision. He barely registered the sight of the hunter standing over him, aiming the weapon once more between his eyes before the young man lost consciousness once more.

* * *

“Jim,” Sam called out as he and Bobby entered the old church, “where are you?”

“Here, Sam,” Jim said wearily as he came out of a room a few door down the hallway. His left arm was in a sling and spots of blood dotted the fabric near the shoulder. Bobby practically pushed Sam out of the way as he rushed to the pastor’s side.  
  
“What the hell happened, Jim?” Bobby demanded.

“Your warning was just a little too late,” Jim said, grimacing as Bobby carefully pulled the sling away to get a look at the wound. “You were right. He’s not a demon. He got out of the cuffs, nearly killed me with a stake to the heart, then tried to take me out again when I gave chase and I got to the top of the stairs, which I promptly went back down, thanks to him.” He shut his eyes a moment and with a sigh, gave Bobby and Sam a small smile. “I hurt in places I didn’t know I could hurt.”

“The man? Did he—“ Sam began. He dreaded the thought of trying to hunt the slippery bastard down.

“No, no, Son. He’s in there.” Jim gave a slight jerk of his head toward the room he just left. “I shot him twice, three times if you count the shot I grazed him with on his side. With my shoulder injured, I wasn’t about to try to drag him back down those stairs. I went with shackles and chains this time. Didn’t believe I’d be able to get ropes tight enough. You’ll need to check his bandages. Couldn’t bandage him much better than I could bandage myself.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Sam said to Jim, then his gaze shifted to Bobby. “Look after Jim. Let me know if he needs to go to the hospital.”

Bobby gave a nod and motioned Jim into the next room before turning to retrieve the first aid kit from the Impala.

Sam walked into the old office. A large heavy metal desk sat askew near the back wall. The man who’d tried to kill his father sat slumped in a metal chair, bandages around his injured leg and shoulder, both of which had slowly growing red stains. His ankles were hobbled and the chain ran around the metal chair leg above the cross beam, and then looped around a desk leg. Additionally, a set of handcuffs fastened the chain between the leg irons to the other chair leg. The man’s wrists were shackled behind him and those chains wrapped around the vertical side beams of the back of the chair. Sam lifted an eyebrow when he saw that Pastor Jim had even put a leather collar around the man's neck with a chain that ran down to the cross beam of the chair. One more chain ran from the back of the chair to another leg of the heavy desk. A bandana had been pulled between his teeth to act as a gag. Jim was nothing if not thorough.

“No, probably just pissed as hell,” Sam murmured.

Jim’s sizable first aid kit lay open on the desk. Going over to it, Sam retrieved some fresh bandages. He wouldn't get a damned thing from the man if the man died. Carefully, he worked a fresh bandage underneath the man’s leg and tightened it over the too loose bandage there, putting some fresh gauze on top of the previous bandage before tying it off. He turned to the man’s shoulder next and basically did the same thing. The man had wicked bruising along one side of his ribs, where Sam kicked him, Sam surmised. If he’d broken a rib or two, too bad. Broken ribs didn’t mean death unless one pierced a lung. With that thought, Sam decided he’d better check. He ran his fingers along the side the ribcage. The ribs might be bruised or fractured, but there didn’t seem to be any complete breaks that could puncture a lung. That same side of the ribs showed a red weal, barely bleeding, where a bullet had grazed him. Sam’s eyes traced up the man’s horribly scarred chest and froze when he saw the brown splotch on the man’s shoulder. A birthmark. A birthmark that kind of resembled angel wings.

Sam’s jaw clenched. The bastards were just messing with him. They had to be. His brother was dead. Sam pulled the gag out of the man’s mouth, leaving it tied but letting it drop around the man’s neck. He backhanded the man.

“Time to wake up, bastard,” Sam said. Getting no response, he backhanded him a second time.

The man groaned softly and opened green eyes to stare a bit groggily at Sam.

“Who are you?” Sam demanded. “Why do you want me and my dad dead?”

* * *

Dean was not unused to being woken in such a way.

Groaning softly the young man opened his eyes slowly, mentally calculating his various injuries, something that had become habit over the years. Gunshot wounds in his left shoulder and right leg. Broken ribs, heavily bruised. Other various cuts and bruises, and of course the intense migraine like pain inside his head from before, when Sam Winchester had hit him with that uncontrolled psychic backlash, that still had not dissipated in the least. Still, nothing overly life threatening, unless he continued bleeding of course.

Lucky him.

Finally he managed to focus on the man in front of him. None other than Sam Winchester himself. Standing there so full of righteous indignation. Dean didn’t need his psychic abilities to feel the fury rolling off the younger man in waves. The desire for revenge boiling just underneath the surface. Dark and twisted, looking for an outlet, and that outlet was him.

Dean couldn’t help but grin, as though enjoying a private joke with himself.

“And what are you going to do if I don’t tell you, Sammy?”

* * *

The arrogance! The cocky, self-sure arrogance of the man before him only inflamed Sam’s anger.

“It’s ‘Sam’,” Sam snapped.

What _was_ he going to do? His eyes roved over the man’s scarred chest. He walked slowly around the man and the scars seemed even worse on the man’s back. Running two fingers along a particularly nasty scar that ran from shoulder blade to kidney, he felt the man tense at his touch, even flinch just a fraction. It was always worse when you couldn’t see it coming. The imagination could play terrible torturous games with one’s mind. He’d learned all about that in psychology class.

Sam rested a hand on either of the man’s shoulders, digging his thumb in the backside of the bullet wound as he leaned down, whispering in the man’s ear, “Looks like you’ve played this game before. I guess I’ll have to get a bit more creative than the ones before me. When you answer one—no, two-- of my questions, I’ll give you a break. So,” he switched ears and gave another squeeze to the injured shoulder, “Who are you. Why do you want me and my father dead. Who’s your boss. Did you order the death of my girlfriend or my best friend. If not you, who did. Who ordered you to kill the hunters. There. Pretty easy questions to start with, don’t you think? But I won’t take simple one word answers. I want a bit more than yes or no, or because you get your jollies on torturing and killing hunters. I want the truth.” Sam released the man’s injured shoulder. “One last chance. Answer my questions or I’ll try to best your former friends’ handiwork.”

Sam stayed behind him, wishing he could see the man’s face but knowing it was more effective for him to stay where he was. He wondered if he could even bring himself to do worse to the man than had already apparently been done, but then he remembered his father hanging from the chains, tortured to within an inch of his life. Sam licked his lips. Yes. He could certainly try.

* * *

Dean didn't particularly like the way the younger man was looking him over, and he certainly didn't enjoy it when the Winchester boy moved behind him where he couldn't see him and touched him. Even the light brush of the other man's fingertips making his muscles tense and flinch away involuntarily, expecting pain, because that was the only way he was ever touched.

Yet when the younger man began digging his fingers into his wounded shoulder, Dean clenched his jaw but didn't make a sound. He didn't even flinch this time. This was, after all, something he was very used to.

After the boy was done muttering his threats into his ear, promising him worse pain than he'd endured before if he didn't answer his questions, Dean couldn't help but laugh. Genuinely amused by the threats because the boy simply had no fucking clue. None at all.

"You really think you can scare me, little Sammy? You think you can do better than the torturers of hell who've had thousands of years of practice ripping apart damned souls for their own amusement? Alright. Take your best shot, hunter. You might even enjoy it."

* * *

Sam was taken aback. His light touch had made the man nervous. He was certain of that. Pressing down on a gunshot wound, hell, he knew how much that hurt. He remembered when his father had to dig out a bullet from Sam’s thigh once. It hurt so badly Sam thought he was going to pass out.

The man hadn’t even made a sound when Sam dug his thumb into the wound. And then the man laughed at Sam. The torturers of Hell had worked the man over? Sam wanted to doubt the man’s words but the scars seemed to belie that possibility. He was telling the truth, Sam simply knew it. To make it worse, the man seemed okay with the thought of being tortured and he thought Sam would enjoy making him scream.

The image of Jessica burning on the ceiling and of his bloodied father leapt into his mind. Yeah, he wanted to find a release for the pain he felt and if the son-of-a-bitch were a demon he wouldn’t have any problem with it. Holy water and holy symbols offered a righteousness, maybe even a nobility, to its torture before exorcising it. But this was a man. A tortured man who maybe had a choice about what he had done, or maybe he hadn’t.

Sam realized torture would not get anything from the man. Sam still wanted to beat the hell out of him. He might yet if the man kept pushing him. Sam wasn’t a saint. He had his limits. If his father died, he didn’t doubt he would plant a knife in the man’s gut or put a bullet in his brain. No matter how wrong it was, he would. If he found out the man had killed Jessica or Mike, or ordered them killed, the outcome would be the same.

He laughed bitterly to himself. The man wouldn’t stop trying to kill him and his father. The man would eventually have to die. But Sam didn’t want days of blood on his hands or hours of screaming in his ears. He had enough nightmares already.

“No,” he said softly and straightened. He went over to the first aid kit and drew a few milligrams of morphine into a needle. Not enough to stop the pain and maybe offer the man the strength to push through what was left and try to escape, but enough to soften the pain a little. He went to the man’s side and after wiping down a spot with alcohol, gave the man the shot.

“That should take the edge off of the pain,” Sam said quietly. Bobby and Jim would probably think he was nuts. Hell, maybe he was. Sam pulled over the one remaining chair in the room and, turning it around so he straddled it, sat down in front of the man. “Would you please tell me your name?”

* * *

No.

Dean couldn’t help but frown slightly in confusion. No? What did he mean no? No he wasn’t going to torture him? Well, he couldn’t say he was all that surprised. He’d half suspected that the Winchester boy didn’t actually have the stomach for true torture, despite his how he’d had no problem hitting him and jamming his fingers into the bullet wound on his shoulder.

He just hadn’t thought that the boy would have backed off from his bluff so suddenly. Even if he didn’t get as ‘creative’ as he promised. As Dean had experienced. He was sure that the younger man would have at least followed through with some of his threat.

Then why didn’t he?

When the younger man’s hands left him Dean couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder. Following him with his eyes, untrusting. Maybe the hunter had simply realized that Dean wasn’t going to give him any information no matter how much he tortured him and had decided to simply kill him. That Dean at least understood. So when the younger man came back over to him with a needle rather than a gun or knife, he could only narrow his eyes in confusion.

Was he going to poison him? Didn’t he even have the balls to kill him like a man? Dean didn’t twitch a muscle when he was given the shot. His eyes never leaving Sam’s, however when the younger man explained that the shot would only take away the pain he frowned. Why? Why the hell would he do such a thing after he’d just threatened him with torture?

Dean looked down at his arm where the boy had stuck him with the needle, already feeling the drug moving its way through his body. Lessening the pain, as he’d promised, and Dean’s frown only deepened. Why? He didn’t understand.

“Why?” He finally asked, meeting the younger man’s eyes once more when the hunter asked him his name.

* * *

Sam saw the depth of the man’s confusion. “Because I’m tired of not having something to call you.”

At the man’s continued furrowed brow, Sam realized what the green-eyed man meant. Sam raked his fingers through his hair, not sure he could explain it to himself, let alone to the nameless man. “Because I don’t think you’ve really had a choice in what you’ve done. I don’t know. Maybe you did. The way you’ve been hurt.” He jerked his chin toward the man’s chest. “You say demons did this to you. Considering you had a whole pack of hellhounds with you, I kind of figure you’re telling the truth. You’re right. I can’t make you tell me what I want to know if you don’t want to. I don’t suppose you will.” Sam shrugged. “Okay. I’ll find out what I need to from someone else. The demons I’ve met,” he gave a sad smile, “they don’t sacrifice themselves if giving up information will save their hides.

“You’ve got to be wondering what’s going to happen to you. I don’t know. I honestly don’t, but for now, I can make you more comfortable.” A knowing smirk pulled at his lips. “Gunshots hurt like a bitch. I hope the morphine’s helping.” Sam realized he meant that and was almost surprised by it. He also knew Jessica would approve and that helped even more.

Sam reached over to the first aid kit and pulled out a bottle of water, opened it, and drank down about a third. “Would you like some water? And I would still like to know your name, or at least, something to call you. And yes, you can still have the water without giving me your name. One doesn’t depend on the other.” Sam waited patiently for the man to answer. He could hear the lecture he was going to get from his father now. Probably from Jim and Bobby, too. It was likely going to be a hell of an ass chewing.

* * *

Something to call him? What the hell did it matter what he called him? Dean was sure if their positions were reversed that he could come up with several things to ‘call’ the younger man if he wished. So what the hell did he care what his real name was? He meant nothing to the younger man. He was the enemy. That was all.

When the other man went on to explain why he’d decided not to follow through with his threat Dean felt the urge once more to laugh at the absurdity of his reasoning. The hunter thought he killed for the demons because he had no other choice? He wondered if the Winchester boy would be acting this way if he knew that Dean did what he did because he enjoyed it. His father had trained him well and nothing gave him pleasure like the ending of a life.

The boy was right about one thing. He would never talk, no matter what means torture he might have come up with. Dean might scream but he would never betray his father’s secrets. No pain in life could ever compare to the agonies of hell, the punishment that would await him if he did. Dean knew that well. The only choice the hunters had left was to kill him…

Then why hadn’t they done that already?

Dean snorted at the other man’s concern over his ‘comfort’. He probably would have laughed outright but he was so damn tired right now he almost couldn’t spare the energy. He wondered if the drugs were meant to make him tired as well. Perhaps to confuse his mind, as the younger man poured on his fake pity. Thinking he could confuse him enough to make him talk that way.

“I don’t need your pity.” Dean finally spat out in a low growl when the younger man offered him water.

* * *

The emotions Sam saw cross the young man’s face, emotions of disbelief, of disgust, of superiority, didn’t particularly surprise him. Very demon-like, Sam mused. The other man couldn’t believe Sam had any measure of concern for him. Sam wasn’t really sure he did. He’d done it because it was the right thing for him to do. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Sam took another swig of the water, his eyes going to the birthmark on the man’s shoulder. His gaze flicked back to the man’s face. “I don’t pity you. You are what you are. Killer. Slave. Demon-whore. Whatever. I’m only trying to treat you like a human being. If you have any concept of what that is. Regardless, you should recognize the sensibility of survival. You’ve lost a fair amount of blood. You’ll heal faster, better, if you’re hydrated. You want to be too prideful to accept some water from me? Fine. Be prideful. Your pride doesn’t hurt me. Just proves you the fool.”

His gaze went back to the birthmark. His brother was dead. Burned. Like his Jessica. Like his mother. Like all his hopes of a normal life. If the demons were trying to mess with his head, they failed. He didn’t know his brother. “Dean” had no meaning to him. Probably did to his father. Bobby and Jim, they hadn’t known John before Dean died, so the name held no meaning for them either. He grinned to himself. He imagined if his brother were anything like Sam, he would heartily approve of the inside joke. Their dad would probably just as heartily disagree. In fact, John would probably completely hit the roof. When his dad was up and around and able to kick his ass, fine, John could try.

“I’ve decided what I’ll call you,” Sam said. “I’m going to call you ‘Dean.’”

* * *

Dean merely snorted and looked away at the hunter’s pretty little speech. The boy knew nothing about him. Nothing.

He was one of his father’s special children, but he was more as well. He was the one that Azazel had kept at his side always. His father had trained him personally. Had taught him how to use his powers. Taught him how to kill, and oh how he had killed. Spilled blood. His own, demonic, and human alike to get to where he was and his father had rewarded greatly him for his loyalty.

He was not human. Humans were weak. Pathetic. He was more than any human… just as Sam was… and he had no idea…

Dean actually laughed when the boy talked about how he should drink so he could ‘heal’. As though that were even an option. As though the hunter believed Dean was actually foolish enough to believe they would let him live.

However when the younger man went on, saying he’d decided what he was going to ‘call’ him, Dean couldn’t help when his eyes snapped back to the hunter, widening in surprise. Before he realized just what he’d done, what he’d given away without meaning to, and looked away again quickly with a silent curse.

How the hell had he… had he somehow read his thoughts? But no one could do that. No one but his father…

* * *

Sam tried to keep his annoyance under control. He reminded himself that based on his best guess, the man had spent years in the hands of demons. Whatever he had been, whatever he might have become, had been beaten or tortured out of him. He was their tool. He’d probably been taught to enjoy killing, enjoy torturing, enjoy any and all forms of pain he could inflict on others. Just because it wasn’t his fault didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous and Sam wasn’t about to forget that.

He couldn’t blame the man for the derisive laugh when Sam tried to coax him to accept the water. The man knew they’d have to kill him. Sam wondered if he shouldn’t just go ahead and do it. That was probably the smart thing to do. They wouldn’t have to worry about him escaping, or hurting one of them. The man was very very good at what he did and wouldn’t hesitate to kill Sam given half a chance. He’d talk it over with Bobby and Jim. And his father if his father was coherent enough.

And then he announced the name he was going to call the man. It was just a little crazy and Sam knew that. He was making a point, mostly to himself, that the demons could try to mess with him, give this man a similar birthmark as his brother, but it wasn’t going to work. His brother was long dead and if he had grown to adulthood, would probably be laughing at the demons’ attempts just like Sam was.

…But the man reacted to being called Dean. The man’s head snapped up and his wide-eyed gaze locked with Sam’s in complete and utter shock before hastily looking away, trying to hide or ignore the gut reaction to Sam’s declaration.

Sam’s heart practically stopped and he couldn’t breathe. He shook his head vehemently and jumped so suddenly to his feet that he knocked his chair over with a noisy clatter. He clenched his fists and stalked toward the man. Sam had been wrong, he’d lied to himself. The name “Dean” did hold meaning for him. “Dean” was the brother stolen from him, the brother who would have meant the world to him, who would have gotten him through anything. This _thing_ in front of him wasn’t his brother. That mark on the man’s shoulder had been put there by the demon behind all of it. The demon who’d killed the light of his life and nearly caused the death of his father.

Sam didn’t know how the knife came to be in his hand. He only knew that suddenly it was there. He plunged it into the damning, lying birthmark. “You’re not him!” Sam screamed at him. “You’re not him! You’re not my brother!”

All Sam’s pain flashed to the surface. He projected that horrible agony and loss into the man before him, the man who pretended his name was Dean, who tried to fool him and make Sam believe he was Sam’s dead brother. Sam began to hit the man in the face again and again as he howled his anguish. When the man seemed all but unconscious from the vicious blows, Sam finally collapsed, sobbing, mourning for everyone he’d so recently lost, mourning for the mother he’d never known, and crying for the brother he’d never mourned before.

* * *

Dean cried out in surprise and pain before he could stop himself when the knife was suddenly jammed deeply into his shoulder. Though he was more shocked than anything at the sudden change in the hunter’s demeanor and he didn’t even understand what he’d done to cause it.

Of course, why the hell did there need to be a reason? Honestly he was probably more surprised that the younger man had kept up his pretense of… whatever… as long as he had.

He didn’t make another sound other than soft grunts of pain as blow after blow rained down on him. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t beg for mercy as his skin split under the harsh blows and his mouth filled with blood. He didn’t understand why the hunter kept screaming ‘you’re not him’ but at the same time he didn’t care. He simply took this beating like he would have taken it any other.

When the younger man was finished with him, Dean merely sat there unmoving save for his labored breathing. His head bowed, ignoring the blood dripping down his face, and pushing down the pain like he’d been taught. Fighting against the urge to surrender to unconsciousness again, not about to give the hunter the satisfaction.

Dean barely heard the sound of the other two hunters when they finally rushed in, obviously drawn by the shouts of the Winchester boy.

“Sam! Are you alright?” Bobby asked as he rushed to the sobbing young man’s side, checking him over while Jim immediately turned his attention to the bound man.

“What the hell did you do now, you bastard!” The pastor yelled in a rare display of anger, but even a man of god had his limits. Seeing the blood stained knife on the floor he picked it up and without hesitation pressed it to the young man’s throat. Damn it. He’d _told_ them the man was too dangerous to keep alive even if he wasn’t a demon. First John, now Sam, not to mention all the other hunters the bastard had killed…. Well, he was going to rectify that mistake, right now.

Dean felt the cold edge of the blade press underneath his chin, nicking his skin, but he only looked up at the hunter impassively. Waiting for his death.

* * *

Bobby’s concerned voice drew Sam out of his despair. He clutched at Bobby for a moment, drawing in ragged breaths, trying to rein back his emotional turmoil. He looked up and saw Jim with a knife at the man’s throat. He shoved Bobby away roughly and jumped forward, pulling at Jim’s arm that held the knife at the man’s throat.

“No!” Sam cried and old habits driving him, he grabbed Jim’s hand and dug into the meat of Jim’s thumb, making Jim drop the knife with a gasp. “Just, no,” Sam said and stood between the hunters and the man. Sam wiped at his running nose with his sleeve.

“Son?” Jim said, startled by Sam’s violent reaction. The man needed to die. Surely Sam saw that.

“I’m okay now. I just..he didn’t do anything. I just kinda lost my head, okay?” Sam said, not wanting to tell his friends the real reason he’d beaten the bloody hell out of the man. How could he even begin to explain himself to them?

“Sam,” Jim began, “he’s too dangerous.”

“Look, not until I’ve talked with Dad about something. I want to make sure of something. He’s chained, his abilities are bound, at least for a few weeks, hopefully longer. He’s not dangerous, not right now.”

“He is,” Jim insisted. “Look at yourself. What did he say to you?”

Sam shook his head mutely.

Jim looked over at Bobby who shrugged helplessly.

With a sigh, Jim relented. For now. “Okay. We’ll wait until you’ve spoken with John. Until you’ve checked out whatever you have to. But if he crosses the line, Sam, Bobby or I will kill him.”

“I know,” Sam said quietly. “Would you...I’m getting kind of hungry. Could you maybe pick up some burgers or something? Maybe a cheeseburger, and a shake?” He hesitated and added, “Something for him too. In case he gets hungry. I don’t want him hungry.”

Passing confused looks between themselves, Bobby said what was on both Jim’s and his minds, “I don’t think we should leave you alone with him.”

Giving a dismissing wave, Sam realized his knuckles were bloody. He wondered if it was his blood or the man’s. Probably both, he decided. “I’m fine. It just all caught up with me.” He gave them both a soulful look. “I really need some food. Please?”

“I’ll stay,” Jim said firmly. “Bobby can go.”

Sam shut his eyes. “Fine. But I want to talk with him alone.”

After wiping at his tears, Sam leaned down and picked up the bloody knife and set it back on the table. He didn’t remember how it got in his hand in the first place and wondered if he had …no, he didn’t have powers like telekinesis. Those were supernatural abilities.  
He didn’t turn as he heard Jim and Bobby step out. Ripping open some gauze, he cleaned off his knuckles. Two of them were split wide. After bandaging them he wet down a cloth and crouched by the man. He winced when he saw the damage he’d done to the man’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly. The man jerked back from the wet cloth as Sam began to gently wipe away the blood. “Easy…Dean. At least from your response earlier, I’m guessing that really is your name. Or what they call you. Or maybe what they want me to think your name is. It doesn’t matter.” Sam kept a close eye on the man. He didn’t want to get bitten and he certainly wouldn’t put it past…Dean. When he saw the man was about to speak, he told him. “Just shut up Dean. I know, you don’t need my pity. Saying I’m sorry doesn’t mean I pity you. Looking after you doesn’t mean I pity you.” Sam folded the cloth over to a fresh corner and continued his ministrations.

“My brother, he was killed, by a demon I’d guess. A yellow eyed demon. Probably the same one that killed my girlfriend. Killed my mom for that matter. My brother’s name was Dean. He had a birthmark,” Sam stopped, swallowing back his emotions, “he had a birthmark like the one on your shoulder.” After a moment, he forced himself to continue. “You’re probably laughing your ass off at me, thinking I’ve fallen for some sort of mind game.” Sam gave a sigh. “I don’t know what to believe. I mean, you’re not him. You can’t be. But…I have to be sure. Stupid and emotional of me, I know.”

Sam fell silent and finished cleaning up Dean’s face, bandaging some of the worst of the wounds. He went to the shoulder with the birthmark and grimaced. “That’s going to need stitches.”

He retrieved the alcohol and sutures. Dean didn’t even flinch when he poured the alcohol over the wound. “This is going to hurt. I’m sorry. I don’t have any anesthesia and we don’t have much morphine. I’ll see if I can steal some when I go see Dad later.”

Sam knelt by the man and carefully and as quickly as he could put in the stitches. He kept them small, as if he were concerned they would scar. Once done, he poured more alcohol over the wound and bandaged it.

Retrieving a fresh bottle of water, he held it up to Dean’s mouth and poured a little over Dean’s lips, hoping Dean might be thirsty enough to drink. And not spit the water back in his face.

* * *

No…

Dean could only stare in shock when the knife at his throat was suddenly pulled away. Nothing more than a faint scratch left on his skin when he should be choking in his own blood right now. The Winchester boy had stopped the other hunter from slitting his neck, and was now standing in front of him like some kind of bodyguard. Protecting him? Why? What the fuck kind of game were they playing with him?

A second ago the young hunter had seemed fully prepared to beat him to death, and now he was arguing with the other hunters against killing him. Arguing that he wasn’t dangerous, then actually ordering his companions to bring him food… and Dean wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Dean hung his head, exhaustion and weakness from blood loss and pain making it hard to even think and maybe that was the point of all this. But it was nothing he hadn’t endured before. Maybe the boy meant to confuse him. Trying to trick him somehow into answering his questions. Mind games. He was no stranger to them either. Did the hunters really think such tactics would work on him? The boy was more of a fool than he’d thought.

The bound man did not look up or open his eyes when the other hunters left the room and he felt the younger man approach him again. Dean assumed so that he could pick up where he’d left off, so he was a little surprised at the rather gentle touch of the wet cloth to his face.

He couldn’t stop himself from flinching away from it, in surprise more than pain, opening his eyes to glare defiantly at the younger man as he spoke. About to tell the hunter again that he didn’t fucking need his false pity, but the boy cut him off before he could say anything, and Dean wisely remained silent. He might not really care what the hunter did to him, but he wasn’t foolish enough to invite it, no matter what Sam might think of him.

So Dean merely stared at the younger man impassively as the hunter gently wiped away the blood from his bruised face. His eyes narrowing a little but saying nothing when the hunter spoke of the demon that had killed his brother, mother… yellow eyes… his brother that had been named Dean. Like him. What the hell kind of game was he playing at now? He had to be. Trying to confuse him. Unfortunately, though he hated to admit it, the Winchester boy was doing a damn good job of it.

He was glad when the boy stopped talking. It was only making his head hurt worse and he was tired. So damn tired. Too tired to think. To try and understand all the questions burning in his mind. How Sam Winchester could have possibly known his name? How he could have known about his father? And if he knew so much, then why had he asked him all those questions to begin with? Why was he keeping him alive if he didn’t need him and why was he tending to his wounds now? Why did the light touch feel so familiar to him…

His eyes slid closed as the younger man stitched and bandaged the wound on his shoulder. Not really caring about the pain at that point, especially considering it was nothing compared to having his skin cauterized closed which was how the demons had tended to his wounds in the past, if they tended to them at all. Often after a beating he was left to fend for himself, to care for his own wounds if he wanted to stay alive. It had taught him how to endure. How to be strong, and he was grateful to his father for that. He was grateful…

The bottle pressed to his lips shocked Dean slightly out of the daze he’d fallen into and he didn’t really think before he was swallowing the water greedily. Almost choking a little as he took a little too much too fast, but he didn’t really care right now. Unable to deny his body what it needed right now despite his pride not knowing when, or if, he might get more later.

* * *

Sam was pleased that Dean accepted the water without a fight. The man might have to die later, but until that fate had been confirmed, Sam would do what he could to make sure the man lived. Sam pulled the water back just a little when the man started to choke on it, drinking too fast, then offered it back up to him again as soon as Sam was sure the man was ready for more. The man made short work of the bottle of water and Sam opened the last one. There was plenty more out in the Impala, and he’d have to bring in some more next chance he got. Twisting off the cap, he held it up and the man drank down about half of it before pulling back to meet Sam’s gaze.

The green eyes staring at Sam were filled with exhaustion and confusion though Sam could tell the man was trying to keep up the cold impassive stare he’d given Sam the entire time Sam was cleaning him up.

“You want more water?” Sam asked, holding the bottle back to Dean’s lips.

Dean hesitated, then accepted the offered water, drinking more slowly until the bottle was empty.

Sam gave him a brief smile before turning back to the desk. A flannel blanket was folded into a square alongside the first aid kit. Grabbing it, Sam shook it open and carefully draped it over Dean’s shoulders, ignoring the look the man gave him. It was cold in the church and Dean was bare-chested. Cold would only contribute to the man potentially dropping into shock from loss of blood. After a moment of debating, Sam put his coat over the man’s shoulders as well. Dean stayed silent, watching him warily, but his confusion seemed to kick up a notch.

Sam righted the chair he’d knocked over and sat back down in it, facing the man. “I know you’re confused.” Sam shrugged. “So am I. It’s been some of the crappiest few days of my life, and a good half of that is your fault. Or whoever gave you orders to go after my dad.” Seeing the distrust grow in the man’s eyes, Sam shook his head. “I’m not going to ask, Dean. My money is on Yellow Eyes. He tossed me my Colt before he disappeared from the room he set on fire, the room where he killed my girlfriend. He told me I was going to need the gun. I’ve thought about what he meant by that. I’d say it’s good odds he knew you and I were going to meet up. Either you work for his enemy and he was hoping I’d take you out, or you work for him, which begs the question of why he’d imply he wanted me to have a weapon to use against you. Or hell, maybe I’m just thinking too much. “

Seeing the the man struggling to keep his eyes open, Sam sighed. “Get some sleep. Sorry you have to sleep in the chair, but, “ and Sam gave a half-hearted chuckle, “I’m not about to take those chains off you so you can slit my throat. I’ll wake you when Bobby gets back with the food.”

Sam headed to the door, but kept the man in his view. “Jim?” he called.

Jim stepped out of the doorway of the next room. There wasn’t a doubt in Sam’s mind that Jim had been eavesdropping.

“So you think he might be your brother?” Jim asked quietly, displeasure clear on his face.

Sam leaned against the door frame. “I don’t know but it kind of makes sense. The guy’s been tortured all his life, tortured by demons, if what he said was true. Dad searched for Dean in the fire. The fire fighters didn’t find Dean’s body, though they didn’t find Mom’s either. This yellow eyed demon was there when Jessica was burning. Dad’s never talked about the fire so I don’t know anything about that night, not really. Fire, Mom on the ceiling, he picked me up, hunted for Dean, and got out of the house with just me. So what if this yellow eyed bastard was there with Mom? What if, I don’t know, maybe he kidnapped Dean and was planning on taking me too but Dad showed up.”

“Those are an awful lot of “ifs” Samuel,” Jim said.

Sam nodded in agreement. “That’s why I need you to call in a favor. I want his DNA compared to mine. I want to know if he’s my brother.”

“If he’s not?”

“Then…I guess we’ll do what we have to.”

“And if he is?” Jim asked, his eyes narrowing.

Determination came into Sam’s cool gaze, “Then I find a way to reach him and bring him back to us.”

* * *

Dean hadn’t actually expected the hunter to let him drink his fill of the water. When the younger man originally pulled the bottle back from his lips he’d assumed that was all he was going to be allowed but apparently the boy was merely waiting for him to breathe easier before offering it back to him, letting him drink the entire bottle. Even opening a second bottle for him and letting him finish it off as well.

He’d smiled then, as though the younger man was pleased about something, and Dean immediately wondered if the water had been drugged or poisoned. But he could feel no ill effects from the water. It had tasted normal. It was just water, so why was the hunter pleased?

And as though that wasn’t enough to confuse him, Sam went on to wrap a blanket around him for warmth which would have been shocking enough. But when the boy draped his own coat over his shoulders as well, Dean couldn’t help but wonder if the hunter were a little mad.

This was not the way to treat a prisoner. Sam had backed down from torturing him for information, only to beat him minutes later for no reason at all. Then he had tended to his wounds, given him water, and given him his own coat off his back to keep him warm. It made absolutely no sense to him. Or did the boy expect him to talk now just because he had been… kind… to him?

Dean frowned but remained silent when the boy spoke of his orders again and of his father. He was not going to give away any more information to the younger man, not about himself, and certainly not about his father’s plans. Whatever game the hunters were playing with him, he would not fall for it. If he thought he could turn him against his father, make him distrust, then the Winchester boy was an even bigger fool than he thought.

He looked away, ignoring the younger man’s words. Though he found himself once more fighting against exhaustion now that his discomfort had been eased somewhat by the hunter’s ministrations. The beating the younger man had given him aside, the painkillers were still working and now that he was warmer he could barely keep his eyes from shutting. He’d certainly slept in less comfortable situations before, and when the younger man suggested he sleep, Dean was too tired to argue.

Besides, he would need to try to recover his strength if he would have any chance of attempting escape again. So, bowing his head, he let his eyes slide closed. The darkness of his life following him into his dreams as it always did.

* * *

While he was waiting for Bobby to return with the food, Sam went through the few things Dean had on him. Jim had hastily copied down the recently dialed numbers and received calls, but there were only a few. No text messages and nothing in the phone book. They'd tossed Dean's phone, not wanting anyone to be able to track him down using its GPS. His wallet had a thick wad of bills and a couple fake IDs and fake credit cards. There was a card key to a hotel room and car keys. Sam wished they could risk going to his hotel room and see what he might have there, but it was surely being watched. Same with his car, though they hadn't bothered to track down where it was parked. Dean, of course, had a few knives on him and a gun. Other than a nice watch, that was it. Sam heard Jim mention something about checking out the phone numbers but hadn't heard if he'd learned anything yet.

Bobby returned with food in about forty minutes. Sam hadn't realized just how hungry he was until he caught a whiff of the French fries. Of course he hadn't eaten in a good day or more, and his last "meal" consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He rolled his eyes when Jim dragged Bobby off to talk in private. Like he didn't know what Jim was telling him. Although he wouldn't be surprised if Jim implied to Bobby that Sam wasn't really playing with a full deck at the moment. Sam figured that was probably true. He was still struggling to get his feet under him after everything that had happened. So much of it still seemed so unreal. No doubt he was dealing with severe emotional overload. He glanced at Dean. The man probably thought he was crazy, too.

Bobby had brought Sam two burgers and a large fry which Sam made short work of. He was still sipping on the chocolate shake and getting ready to wake Dean to see if he wanted some food when he heard Dean gasp and even thought he might have heard the barest of whimpers. Looking over at the man, he saw Dean twitched and jerk, obviously in the throes of a nightmare. The dreams of Dean he'd had came back to him. He debated a moment, then went to Dean's side and gently cupped the side of his face, as he had done to soothe him countless times in their dreams. At least, he assumed they shared dreams, because Dean had certainly seemed to recognize him at the same time he'd recognized Dean. If they didn't share dream, Dean was probably going to think he was hitting on him or something.

Dean's eyes flew open with a start, but he didn't make a sound. He stared at Sam, clearly confused.

* * *

  
_Dean was lying on the hard stone floor of his cell. Shivering uncontrollably, because he was so cold. Barely able to feel the tips of his fingers or toes anymore, but he certainly felt the hot burning pain from the lash marks across his back._  


  
_  
His father had gotten angry with him again and whipped him because he had displeased father with the progress of his training._

_He’d tried. He really did. But it hurt his head so much he simply couldn’t concentrate. Blood had poured from his nose but still the heavy weight had only moved a couple of inches before he collapsed shaking and crying, clutching his head._

_His father had yelled at him then. Backhanding him so hard he’d tasted blood in his mouth. Then his father had whipped him. Only seeming to grow angrier with him every time he cried out in pain. Ignoring the eight year olds pleas for forgiveness and promises to please him._

_Dean sniffed. Tears of pain leaking silently down his cold cheeks despite how he tried to hold them back. Knowing if he was seen crying he would only be punished more, but he couldn’t help it. It was no wonder his father was so angry with him. He was so weak…_

_He was half unconscious when he’d felt it. So shocking against his freezing cold skin he almost cried out in fear. Flinching away from it, but it remained. Only the barest light touch along his tear stained cheeks, so soft and warm. He’d never felt anything like it before and to his shame more tears fell from his eyes brought on by the touch._

_Who are you? He’d asked silently, but there was no answer. Only the soft touch… and it was enough. He stopped shaking. Closing his eyes he’d finally been able to sleep. Feeling safe and warm for the first time in his life._

*

Dean’s eyes snapped open when he felt the light warm touch against his bruised cheek. Not a dream or memory but real. He met Sam’s eyes, confusion was becoming a familiar emotion to him now, and he couldn’t say he enjoyed it.

“Why are you doing this?”

* * *

Sam was surprised by the question, and even more surprised that Dean hadn’t snapped at him or sneered some jibe. There was pain in that question. Pain and confusion and Sam felt his heart thump just a little harder in his chest. He reminded himself the man was dangerous. He reminded himself that the man had nearly killed his father. He reminded himself Dean had tried to kill him and tried to kill Jim. Even with all that, he felt a connection to the man he couldn’t explain. He wanted to protect Dean. How totally screwed up was that? But he remembered watching young Dean being beaten and tortured and feeling ever last lash on his own back. He remembered comforting him and wanting to help him and make him feel safe. The feelings he had for Dean were surely stemming from those dream memories, and, he acknowledged, weren’t something he seemed readily able to ignore at the moment.

Sam gently brushed his thumb over Dean’s bruised cheek before letting his hand fall away.

“Doing what?” Sam asked, not really certain which “this” Dean might be asking about.

* * *

Dean’s eyes narrowed a little, wondering if the hunter was knowingly being obtuse or if he really was that oblivious to what he was doing. Touching him like… that, giving him blankets and a coat, tending his wounds…

Take your pick, he almost told the younger man, but instead he remained silent. His lips forming a thin line as he turned his face away from the hunter. Not wanting to see that questioning… open… expression anymore. It made him uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t define.

Just like the way Sam had touched his cheek made him uncomfortable, even though it was so familiar. Like his dream… Dreams he had never, ever, told anyone about. Not even his father. Afraid of being punished for them, but more afraid that if his father knew of them he’d somehow take them away.

* * *

When Dean turned away, Sam sighed inwardly. What was he supposed to tell the man? He guessed Dean wanted to know why he was taking care of him. Sam should be trying to get information out of him. That had been the whole point of taking him alive. Dean was anything but an idiot and Sam knew it didn’t make any logical sense that he was acting concerned towards him. If anything, Dean probably thought it was some mind game Sam was trying to play with him. Why, when Dean had tortured his father and attacked Sam, would Sam want to do anything remotely kind for Dean? That was screwed up and a mind game was the reasonable conclusion to draw.

“I’m not trying to mess with your head, though everything I’ve done says otherwise and I know it. At the factory I wanted to beat the hell out of you, hurt you the way you hurt my dad. Obviously, with that spell bag on you, we planned on taking you alive to get information out of you. And just as obviously, for the scars you’ve got and what you said, there’s nothing I can do—or at least, nothing I’m willing to do—to get that information.” Sam paused, knowing that he knew how to get creative because of the dreams. The thought of doing those things to Dean almost made him sick. “You’ve killed at least twenty hunters that my dad knew of. Since you’re no good for information, there’s no logical reason for us to keep you alive. And I suppose I wouldn’t stop Jim or Bobby if not for the fact I’ve dreamed about you all my life. About you being hurt. I’d…feel everything you felt. I’d feel the same sting on my back when you were whipped or the sharp pain of when they’d cut you and the agony of them cauterizing the wounds. I was always kind of surprised when I’d wake up and not have the injuries I saw and felt you experience. I don’t really remember details of who was hurting you and I never knew why, but I knew you felt guilty or like a failure, so I always figured it was punishment.

“Did you…experience any of my life? Sometimes at night, when I was upset, I’d swear you were with me. Sometimes I thought you were in the bed with me, your arm over me like you were trying to protect me. At least, that’s the way it made me feel. Were you there with me like I was with you?” Sam almost felt stupid asking it. It was insane…wasn’t it? Just because he’d dreamed about the man didn’t mean the man actually went through those things…right?

Sam practically held his breath, waiting for Dean to answer him. To either tell Sam he’d really lost it, or to confirm Sam wasn’t nuts and Sam had really been with Dean sometimes.

* * *

Well, it seemed like he had his answer, at least to one question. Sam knew exactly what he was doing, since the younger man started speaking and didn’t stop. Talking about everything he had been doing. Everything that confused the bound man. Everything he wanted an answer for, yet instead the hunter was only giving him more questions.

Why? It was a simple question, and yet none of the answers Sam gave to him were simple.

The hunter denied that it was a game he was playing with him. Not that his denial proved anything. Dean wasn’t stupid enough to believe just because the younger man sounded like he was telling the truth meant that he wasn’t lying. Perhaps even Sam believed he wasn’t lying. It was possible. Perhaps they were both being played the fool.

Because how could any of this be anything more than some kind of game? Why would the hunters be doing any of this without trying to gain something out of it?

Sam admitting how they’d planned on taking him alive for information was of little comfort. Though he looked at the younger man with a raised eyebrow when he denied that he was capable of it. Why then had they planned on taking him in the first place if he already knew he wasn’t capable of going through with his plans for torture? No, there was no reason to keep him alive. Then why were they keeping him alive?

Then the younger man talked of… dreaming about him… and Dean couldn’t stop from tensing at those words. What the hunter described. His punishments… How could he know? How? Asking him if he’d been there… with him… Those memories were so faint. Nearly forgotten. The only comfort he’d ever known in his life were those soft dream memories. He didn’t know how to offer comfort, especially for distress that wasn’t his own, but he had tried. He had tried, because he had to…

Dean shook his head. No. His orders had been clear. He’d been ordered to awaken Sam Winchester’s abilities and to bring him to his father, or kill him. It could not be true… Because that would mean his father had sent him to bring him the one he’d dreamed of. The only one who’d ever touched him with kindness. The only one who’d ever… cared… for him…

“It was a dream, nothing more.” He replied softly, looking down, somehow unable to meet the younger man’s eyes as he told the lie. He’d never had a problem lying before but now… he had to lie because he could not be the one, and if he was… then it was better that Sam kill him anyway…

* * *

When the man shook his head “no”, Sam felt a small hope wither inside him. He wanted it to be true. Not for Dean to have undergone the tortures Sam had seen and felt, but he wanted that feather-light touch of the arm across him not to be his imagination. Sam had never really had any long term friends. He didn’t have anyone he could talk to that was his age, not that he could tell them the truth anyhow. They were always on the road and the longest Sam could ever remember being in one school was five months. His dad hadn’t wanted him writing to any of the friends he made because that made them trackable. That touch on his cheek that had mirrored his own touch of comfort, that arm across him that had made him feel safe, the ..companionship…was a constant in his life that helped him make it through the lonely days, or the never-ending training that he grew to loathe and the father who he grew to resent.

Then Dean told him it was only a dream. But he looked away. This cock-sure, arrogant, prideful man wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes while his voice was soft and filled with denial. Denial of the lie that it was only a dream. Sam wasn’t crazy.

Sam stared at him a minute, taking in his face that even beaten still held a handsomeness Sam couldn’t deny. The blanket around his shoulders had shifted and his hard muscled chest littered with bruises was visible. Sam wished that he could do something, anything, to reach the hunter before him and ease his pain. Ease the hurt in the boy that had been his friend.

“You’re a lousy liar,” Sam said quietly, resituating the blanket and coat to keep the chill off the man. He decided it was probably best to let the nightmare and the talk of dreams to lie for now. He thought maybe he was beginning to reach the man, if only a little, and he didn’t want to ruin that by pushing too hard. He refused to entertain what would happen to the man if he wasn’t Sam’s brother. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. If Sam was able to reach him, to free him from his servitude to the demons, maybe they wouldn’t have to kill him. Of course, convincing Dean not to kill them was a whole ‘nother task in and of itself.  
  
“I’ve got a hamburger and some fries for you. Sorry but the fries are barely warm at this point. Mine weren’t really hot either. I haven’t had a chance to go out and get you more water, but I only drank half my shake. Not like you really need the cold of it, but the sugar will probably do you some good so you can have the rest. Hope you like chocolate. The burger’s pretty standard fair, onions, ketchup, pickles, mustard.” Sam unwrapped the burger and held it up for Dean’s easy access, hoping Dean wouldn’t feel too prideful to eat. He surely hadn’t eaten in at least a day and a half if not longer. The man had to be as hungry as Sam had been.

* * *

Dean glanced up when the young hunter called him a liar, frowning but saying nothing. What could he say? He had been lying, and not doing a very good job of it. He already knew that. He felt… vulnerable… in a way he hadn't felt in years. Not since he'd been a child… and he didn't like it. Not one damn bit.

He shouldn't be saying anything anyway. He might have already said too much to this man. This man who he was meant to kill if he couldn't bring him to his father alive. Instead he'd been careless. He'd underestimated the young hunter before and that had led to his capture. Now all this talk of dreams, the past, being kind to him…

No. It was all some kind of trick. It had to be, and he was nothing more than a fool allowing the boy to play with his mind this way. Letting the Winchester boy distract him from his goal.

Even if he did manage to escape, complete his mission as he'd been ordered, the punishment he would face would be unlike any he'd ever endured in his life. If he escaped and he did not bring Sam Winchester to his father, Dean had no doubts he would suffer an excruciating slow and painful death.

He couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He would not fall for these tricks. He would escape and he would bring Sam Winchester to his knees in front of his father. That was his mission. Those were his orders and he would obey. He would always obey.

Dean kept his expression carefully neutral when the younger man offered him food. Hesitating only a moment before he began to eat. Though letting the hunter feed him like a child might have been a wound to his pride he knew too well he needed to regain his strength if he was going to escape. He needed to buy himself time as well. Let the Winchester boy think he was falling for his tricks if it would convince him to keep him alive longer.

He would learn far too late his mistake.

* * *

Sam was glad that Dean decided to eat. Coldness seemed to emanate from him, but Sam decided to ignore it. Sam, himself was on emotional overload. The man had to be just as twisted up about everything as he was and shutting down was one way to deal with it all. Dean didn’t have any support structure to help him through it all. Well, maybe he could convince Dean to let him be his support. But not now. He laughed to himself when Dean took a sip of the shake and surprise lit his face.

“What? You’ve never had a shake before?”

At the man’s wordless negation, Sam couldn’t stop his smile. “Glad you like it.”

After the man had eaten the meal, Sam saw the exhaustion creep back into his eyes. Sam rested a light hand on his shoulder. “Get some sleep, Dean. We’ll figure this out.”

Dean appeared to fall asleep almost immediately and Sam sighed softly. They were going to have to do something about keeping Dean locked up. The chair had only been practical if they intended to question him and …kill him. If they were going to keep him alive, they were going to have to come up with another way to hold the man. Sam didn’t mind hand feeding the man, but there would be other…necessities… before too much longer and Sam certainly didn’t want to have to deal with those.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Sam’s attention snapped to the door. Bobby stood at the doorway, motioning Sam to join him. Sam walked over and Bobby stepped aside. Jim was out in the hallway. He stepped from the room and joined Jim and Bobby. He’d known a “discussion” was going to come out of this. Probably a freaking “intervention.”

Quietly, Bobby said, “Jim says you think that,” his voice took on disgust as he jerked his chin toward the sleeping man, “is your brother.”

Sam nodded hesitantly. “Yeah. I think he might be.”

Bobby scowled. “So I’m guessing you intend on keeping him alive for a spell.”

“Yes. At least until DNA proves one way or another. And I need to talk to Dad about it.”

“Why are you so all fired sure he’s your dead brother?”

Sam chewed on his lip a minute and decided he wasn’t willing to divulge that he’d dreamed about the man all his life. Jim may have overheard, but if he hadn’t, Sam didn’t want to enlighten either of them. “It’s just a feeling.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed, knowing full well Sam was keeping something from them. “All right. For now, we’ll try to keep him alive, providing the little bastard behaves himself.” At Sam’s look Bobby growled. “That man near tore apart John, was doing a number on you, and sent hellhounds after us. Don’t you be expecting Jim or me to show him kindness. You got it?”

“Yeah,” Sam said reluctantly. “I hear you.”

“Good. If we’re keeping him alive, we can’t have him tied to the chair for the next handful of days waiting on a DNA test, ‘cause I’m not cleaning up his mess.” Bobby re-situated his ball cap. “Jim and I talked. We’re going to fix him up some chains in the basement. He can have a bucket for his business.”

Sam remembered the dreams of Dean curled up on the cold floor, hurt and crying. He wanted to foster friendship and try to override those images. They couldn’t afford to allow Dean to draw parallels to his time spent in the hands of the demons, not if they hoped to win him over.

“He’ll need a bed.”

Jim and Bobby gaped at him.

Jim shook himself free of his surprise and said, “We’re not giving him a cot. Anything that could be made into a weapon is not coming within his reach. It was a chair leg that he skewered me with, Sam.”

Sam huffed, but knew they were right. “Okay, then we find a mattress for him at least.”

Jim and Bobby passed looks and both shook their heads.

“Please?” Sam asked, begging them to agree to it.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “All right. I guess I’ll find him a mattress. Jim, why don’t you keep an eye on our friend, while I put Sam to work on setting up a place to keep him so’s he can’t kill us.” Bobby gave Sam a hard look. “I’m going to remind you of one other fact, Sam.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked, relieved the older hunters were willing to indulge him.

“That spell bag ‘round his neck, this was its first field test. I’m guessing we got two weeks or even a few months before it starts to weaken, when some of the spell components shelf lives come due.” Bobby paused. “I could be wrong.”


	2. Chapter 2

  
The sound of the heart monitor seemed loud in the otherwise silence of the room, and was the first definite sign John Winchester had that he was in fact alive. In that second before he opened his eyes he'd been rather doubtful. He'd felt for sure in that moment he was actually dead and he was in hell.   


  
He'd dreamed of his wife and son's death. The night of the fire. Listening to Mary's and Dean's screams as the heat of the flames charred their flesh, melting it from their bones as he watched. In his dreams he hadn't even managed to save his infant son. Sam's terrified cries joining his mother's and brother's as they all perished together and there was nothing John could do to stop it. Over and over, all he could do was watch and scream along with them.

Then the dreams had shifted and he was back in that old abandoned paper mill. Back with the demon that had tortured him for no other reason than enjoying listening to him scream. His son standing there watching it all. At first Sam screaming for it to stop, but then saying nothing. Just watching. Doing nothing. Before finally turning his back and walking out. Leaving him to the demon's mercy.

When he finally woke it had taken a moment for the grips of the nightmares to leave him, and another for him to realize where he was. John blamed the painkillers for that. In a hospital, not in the mill, and not in hell after all. It took still another moment for the elder man to realize he wasn't alone in the room. 

John managed to turn his head to look at his son sitting slouched in the chair next to his bed, the younger man's head bent at a slightly awkward angle from the position, and fast asleep. There were dark circles underneath Sam's eyes and he had a good couple days worth of stubble on his face, but Sam looked otherwise uninjured and John breathed a sigh of relief. 

As long as his son was safe he didn't really give a damn how much like shit he felt right now.

"Sam?" He managed to whisper hoarsely, trying to rouse the younger man, thought his voice was weak from lack of use.   


* * *

Sam’s sleep was haunted by a collage of dreams and nightmares. Jessica and Mike rolling their eyes when he once again refused to wear a costume to the Halloween Party in the dorm. Jessica leaning over his shoulder, blowing in his ear as he tried to study. The dream boy—man—watching him, both envious and happy for Sam. Jessica’s screams cutting through the night and slowly deepening in tone until it was his father’s. His dad was screaming his name, but Sam couldn’t find him. The place was dimly lit and he had to fight his way through obstacles and beasts and demons, casting them aside without effort, with nothing but a thought and flick of the wrist. His father’s voice grew steadily weaker and weaker until it was nothing more than a hoarse whisper calling his name.

Sam jerked awake, wild-eyed and confused as he jumped to his feet. His gaze swept the room and he discreetly twisted his wrist, dropping the silver knife from its wrist sheath into his hand. His head cleared with the recognition he was in his father’s hospital room in ICU. He drew in a deep breath to steady his nerves and slid the knife back into its sheath.

He turned his hazel eyes onto his father’s badly abused body. A pang of guilt shot through him. The man that had done this to his father he’d been taking care of. Giving him food and water and trying to make his as comfortable as he could without crossing the line of trust.

What the hell was he going to tell his dad? He’d never told his father about the dream friend. He was afraid, especially as he got older, that his father would see it as a weakness or some subconscious manifestation of the “torture” of his life. Maybe, just a little, he was afraid his father would make him pretend the boy wasn’t there and he’d lose that barely substantial friend who made him feel safe, even in the face of some of the nightmare things he’d faced. Hell, it had been six years since he’d even seen his father. He barely knew what to say to him anyhow.

“Guess it’s pretty stupid to ask how you’re feeling, huh?” Sam said, a weak smile touching his lips. “I brought Bobby and Jim along to help rescue you since I wasn’t really given much time to rally forces. They’re both okay. I am too….it’s good to see you, Dad.” Sam stepped up to his father’s bedside and laid a light hand on John’s arm.

* * *

John’s eyebrows rose slightly at the younger man’s rather violent reaction when Sam finally woke. The elder man did not fail to notice the weapon in his son’s hand a second after he stood up, ready to defend himself. While on one hand the older hunter approved, it was obvious that Sam was completely on edge and it made John worry even more than the younger man’s exhausted appearance.

What the hell had happened after he’d lost consciousness?

The look that flashed over Sam’s face when his son finally looked at him told him he must look as awful as he felt, but he tried to return the younger man a weak smile anyway. Breathing a sigh of relief when Sam told him that Jim and Bobby were fine. Hearing Sam say he was fine as well calmed him too, even though he could see that his son was well enough physically, having it confirmed still eased his mind.

“I’ve felt worse.” John finally said after clearing his throat. Though he could still manage barely more than a whisper and the weakness of his voice irritated him. The last thing Sam looked like he needed was to worry about him any more… though the fact that his son was worried about him at all was still a wonder.

“It’s good to see you too, Sam.”

* * *

When his dad said he’d felt worse, Sam’s eyes widened. Dean had almost killed his dad. What else had his father been through in the six years they were apart? What if his dad had died?

Sam’s feelings were mixed. If it had been in the first couple years they were apart, he would have probably said good riddance. With time, though, came some easing of his resentment. He’d gotten away from his father, had put his life on the track he wanted, and his father hadn’t tried to stop him. He’d let Sam go his own way. Sam had realized that after his second year of college. His dad either hated him so much he was glad Sam was gone, or loved him so much, he’d let him go. Talking with Jim and Bobby through the years, he knew the latter was much more likely than the former. After this, there could be little doubt. His dad didn’t hate him. Probably would never really approve of him, but at least John didn’t hate him.

“Uh, I’m sorry Dad, but I have to check. Cristo,” Sam said, needing to confirm his father wasn’t possessed. When all he got was an approving smile, Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know what you remember,” Sam said, wondering if his dad had seen the things that…well, that he thought he’d done. Moving stuff with his mind. Which wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t possible. It was just part of his nightmares.

“So I’ll just kind of start with when I came in. He cut me off from Jim and Bobby and sicced the hellhound on me. I killed the hellhound, then went up against De—the guy who’d been torturing you. I’m not really sure when you passed out. Maybe after he buried the knife in your leg.” Sam paused scratching at the stubble on his face. God, it itched. “I won the fight, got one of Bobby’s special pouches around his neck, and knocked him out. He’s someplace safe for now and he can’t use any of his mind powers. And Dad, he’s not a demon. He’s human.”

* * *

To be honest John couldn't remember much about what had happened during his capture or his torture. It kind of all got blurred into one big ball of pain.

He remembered the face of the demon who'd tortured him. He knew he'd never forget that for as long as he lived. He remembered some of the more creative ways he'd been hurt during his hours of torture. He vaguely remembered seeing Sam's face while he was hanging like a piece of meat over a pool of his own blood. More pain… That was pretty much all he could recall right now however.

Maybe that was why John frowned a little at the explanation of the events his son gave, very brief and hardly informative. But maybe Sam was only being so vague because he didn't want to tire him out, or something. Possibly upset him with the gory details… That's what he told himself anyway even though he knew it wasn't true.

He ignored the gut feeling, that was normally right, that was telling him Sam was withholding information on purpose. That his son was hiding something from him. He might not have seen or spoken to the younger man in six years, but that didn't mean he was an idiot, and it had been a hell of a lot longer than that Sam could pull one over on him. They were simply too much alike, even if Sam would absolutely hate to hear that.

He _was_ far too tired for an argument, however, so John let it be. For now. He'd get the full story later, or from Jim or Bobby. He was just glad that Sam had managed to hold his own against the bastard. Sam was alive, Jim and Bobby were alive, that's what mattered.

John blinked in surprise however when he realized just what Sam was saying. They hadn't killed the demon, were instead holding him prisoner, not a… what the hell?

"Human? That's not possible." The elder man said in sheer disbelief. No human could possibly do what he'd seen that man do. He had to be some kind of demon. Did it even matter? If it were possible, if he were a man that somehow had the powers of a demon that only made him twice as dangerous because none of the protections they could use on a demon would work on him. He was far too dangerous to even attempt to keep a prisoner.

"Why are you keeping him? He can't live, Sam. He's already killed too many of us. He's too dangerous…"

* * *

Sam could tell John wasn’t really buying the short and sweet version. He sucked at hiding stuff from his father, ranging anywhere from the pathetic “I don’t know how that scratch got on the Impala” to the more believable “I got the black eye playing baseball” to how’d he see through “No, I don’t have a girlfriend” lie. He could tell his father wasn’t going to push at the moment. That meant his dad was really tired, really hurting, or both. Sam would put his money on the latter.

Reluctantly Sam pulled the chair over to his father’s bedside. “I know you’re tired, Dad, but a lot’s happened since you called me at Stanford.” Sam dry-scrubbed his face wishing he didn’t have to go into it all. “I’ll give you the gory details later. Here’s the short of it. My best friend was run down and killed by a demon-possessed driver. A fire started in my bedroom. I got to the bedroom to see Jessica,” Sam paused, choking up for a moment. No, he had to just push through this. Get it out and done with. “My girlfriend was on the ceiling, her gut split open, just like Mom. A yellow-eyed demon was there. Tossed me that old .45 you gave me that I kept by the bed. Said I’d need it.” Sam swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions under control and tried to keep the shake out of his voice. “I got to Bobby’s and talked with the guy holding you. I wanted to take him alive. I wanted to know if he’d killed Jess or Mike, or the hunters. If not who was behind it. How many more of my friends were in danger and which other hunters were being targeted. Bobby has a spell bag that could bind his powers, at least for a little while. So we captured him.”

Sam paused, letting his Dad catch up to his explanations. “Still with me, Dad?”

At John’s nod, Sam continued. “I’ve talked some with him. He was raised by demons since he was a kid. I don’t know how he’s got the demon powers, but he does. Dad…he’s got Dean’s birthmark.” Seeing the dark anger in his father’s eyes, Sam stopped him before he could interrupt. “I’m not an idiot, Dad. I know it could all be a head game, but I got to thinking, if the demon that killed Jessica was there when I got there, what if the demon that killed mom was there and Dean came in. What if Dean didn’t die, but was kidnapped by the bastard. So I asked Jim to call in a favor. I’m having his DNA compared to mine. I…I think he’s Dean, Dad. I think he’s our Dean,” Sam finished in a rush, not sure how his father was going to react. They couldn’t kill him. They just couldn’t, not until they knew for sure.

* * *

John Winchester listened intently as his son spoke, filling in the gaps of what had happened between the time he’d called Sam and his capture. His heart twisting at the look of pain that flashed over the younger man’s face when he spoke of his girlfriend and friend that had been killed… People his son had cared about, a girlfriend that John had never even known about because of their estrangement… now dead.

The older man’s eyes widening when Sam spoke about how the girl had died. Exactly as his wife, Sam’s mother, had been killed and though John desperately wanted to ask Sam more about what had happened, about the demon, he remained silent. Waiting as patiently as he was able to for Sam to finish speaking. Letting his son tell him what had happened in his own words before his father started asking him questions.

Though nothing, absolutely nothing, could have ever prepared him for when Sam mentioned Dean. His four year old dead son. The birthmark… that he had, that Sam had, and that Dean, and now this… man…

Of _course_ it had to be some kind of trick! His son, Sam’s brother, was dead! Killed along with his mother in that god damn fire. That… that man… that _thing_ was not his baby boy!

John was already shaking his head in denial even as his thoughts were spinning out of control as Sam explained the reasoning behind his ‘theory’. He’d never found out exactly what had killed his wife and son. They’d searched for years, but never found any more clues, only dead ends.

But if it had been this demon that Sam had seen. If he had been there… no, it wasn’t possible… no. It couldn’t be true because that would mean… it would mean while he was too busy mourning the deaths of his beloved wife and son, his son had really been in the hands of a demon, and John had never even looked for him. Never even tried to save him. It couldn’t be possible. It had to be a trick… but why? How would a demon even know about Dean in the first place? He was only a boy…

Oh dear god…

John only just realized just how fast his heart monitor had started beeping, the fact that he had stopped breathing, since Sam had started talking when alarms suddenly began going off. Realizing the twisting pain in his heart wasn’t just emotional agony. He was going into cardiac arrest.

* * *

Sam saw the pain cross his father’s face, the same pain that Sam felt at the thought Dean was indeed their Dean, and that demons had reared his brother and turned him into a brutal killer. The sound of John’s increasing heart rate should have clued him in, should have made him stop telling John his theory. Instead, he’d spilled the story quickly, desperately wanting his father to know that they may have found Dean alive. He wanted to see that steel come into his father’s eyes, see that same determination Sam felt, that if this killer was their Dean then they would find a way to free him of the demons influences. Instead of seeing his father’s lips pressed firmly together in determination, he saw cyanosis around his father’s lips and instead of steel, he saw first denial then nothing but the whites of his father’s eyes as they rolled back in his head. It took a moment for the screaming alarms to penetrate Sam’s awareness and the pieces to fit together.

People poured through the doorway in their scrubs and white coats shoving Sam out of the way, lowering the bed rails and beginning CPR on John. Sam staggered back against the wall, watching as they intubated his father and put the paddles on his father’s chest. “Clear” he heard one of them shout and he saw his father’s body jerk as the electrical impulses ran through his dying body. Sam was frozen in place. Epinephrine was injected into the IV and another shout of “clear” brought on another jolt of electricity. Air was pushed into his father’s lungs. The doctor in charge was yelling at his father, telling him not to give up because they had worked too damned hard putting him back together. Another shot went into the IV and another shock went through John’s body.

The whole room seemed to pause, time seemed to stop. And then John’s heart started beating and time moved forward once again.

Sam stared wide eyed as the hospital staff busied themselves around his father. He heard one say his father was breathing on his own. A nurse approached Sam but he didn’t hear her reassurances or anything else for that matter as the tears poured down his cheeks.

What the hell had Sam been thinking? His dad was in ICU for God’s sake! How could he have laid that news on his father without warning? He barely felt the gentle tug on his arm as the nurse encouraged him to leave. He shook her off and strode forward to his father’s side, taking John’s hand in his own. They hadn’t even had a chance to make peace between themselves. His father almost died because Sam was being a selfish bastard, wanting reassurance from his father like some five year old. Had he expected his father to tell Sam he had done well? That the choices Sam was making were the right ones? When the hell had his father ever told him that or ever had any confidence in what his son believed?

“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry,” Sam whispered to him. “I know—I know you don’t believe me. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of all of it. I’ll save him Dad. If he’s my brother, no matter what it takes, I’ll save him.”

Sam gave his father’s hand a gentle squeeze and settled down beside him, glaring at the nurse who once again suggested that he let his father rest. No way in hell was he leaving his father’s side. He could only trust Jim and Bobby to follow his orders regarding Dean. He almost snorted at that. Okay, to do what he asked them to do.

“Mr. Abernathy?” a man said.

Sam blinked and looked up from his father, ready to tell whoever it was to go to hell if they expected him to leave. Sam forced his numbed brain to work when he realized it was his father’s doctor. “What are his chances, Dr Sykes?” Sam asked.

The man rested a consoling hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He’s suffered a lot of trauma. Did he complain to you of chest pain or anything before his heart attack? There was nothing in the history given to us to suggest he had heart problems. Is this his first heart attack?”

“I…I don’t know. My dad and I, we’ve been estranged, six years now, until this happened. I don’t think he’s had any problems. Bobby would have told me,” Sam mumbled.

“What were you discussing when this happened?”

Sam had to swallowing back the mad laughter. _I was telling my dad that his oldest son wasn’t dead, that he had been kidnapped by demons and reared in Hell…_ ”—about my girlfriend,” Sam heard himself say. “Just filling him in a little about everything that’s happened since I went away to college.”

The doctor nodded. “When he wakes up—“

“He is going to wake up, right?” Sam asked fearfully.

The doctor hedged. “I don’t want to make you any promises, but I can tell you he’s been responding well to treatment. Apparently the trauma has put a strain on his heart. He’ll need to be kept calm and resting until he gets stronger but he’s quite a fighter. His heart seems to have normalized so his chances are very good barring any complications. When he does wake up, try to minimize talking to him about anything that might upset him.”

“Can I stay with him until he wakes up?”

“Of course but it will probably be awhile.”

Sam nodded. He knew he needed to call Bobby and Jim and tell them. He also needed to make sure they took care of Dean. Sam just couldn’t take any more terrible things happening right now. He was on the brittle edge as it stood and he felt the precipice trying to crumble beneath him. He realized a part of him didn’t want Dean to be his brother. That way it was one less struggle Sam would have to face.

* * *

Dean's head snapped up, his eyes opening wide, staring into the darkness. His heart was beating hard and fast and he didn't know why. He felt agitated, scared even, and it hadn't been a dream. Not this time. He had a… feeling… that something had happened. Something bad. Something he should care about, and he didn't know why.

The young man frowned in confusion even though the feeling was not a new one to him. He'd felt this many times actually, though usually it was stronger. Right now, considering his situation, it wasn't in the least appreciated.

Dean glanced down at the pouch hanging from the cord around his neck. He wondered if that was the reason. The same reason why he couldn't use his powers. Whatever magic was within the little bag somehow binding his mental abilities. Why was he feeling anything at all then? Maybe it was just his imagination.

That didn't stop the man from straightening up in his chair as much as the bindings would allow. Looking around the now near pitch black room he was being held in. It was obvious it was night now, considering how much darker and colder it was in the church. The blanket wrapped around his shoulders barely cutting the chill in the air anymore.

Sam wasn't here. Why did that surprise him? Just because the younger man had been there the last two times he'd woken. Though it was dark in the room where he was he could see a faint light, probably from a kerosene lamp, from the room beyond, and he could also hear the sound of voices talking quietly. He heard the other two hunters, but he didn't hear Sam's voice.

Had something happened to Sam? Why did he even care? Well, other than the fact that the only thing keeping the other hunters from killing him right now was the younger man. He had to get free, but tugging on his bonds proved them to be just as immovable as before. If he could only get the damned pouch off from around his neck, he'd strangle those damn hunters with their own intestines for keeping him like this…

* * *

It was late and Jim had suggested to Bobby it was well past time one of them should get some sleep, yet neither man had quite gotten motivated enough to crawl into a sleeping bag. Sam wasn’t back from the hospital yet. It had been hours since he had left and both men were beginning to get worried.

Still drinking coffee, sitting close to the propane heater, and talking about nothing particular both men jumped a little when Bobby’s cell phone went off in his pocket. “That’s gotta be Sam,” Bobby said as he extracted the phone and answered it, Jim watching on hopefully.

“Hello?” Bobby said gruffly. He smiled and gave a nod to Jim. “Boy, we was getting a little worried about you…That’s good. How’s your dad feeling…Yeah…So did he tell you it was a fool idea you got your brain wrapped ‘round?...What?” Bobby gasped, paling. Jim straightened, Bobby’s tone sending a spike of cold fear through him.

Bobby asked, “Did he…? Thank God…yeah, yeah, you stay…we got it covered… “ Bobby rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust at the pastor. “God Dammit, Sam…Yeah, fine. We’ll take care of it… Don’t you be lecturing me. I know what I’m doing... Yes. Fine… Yes, I got one… Yeah and those, too…Okay. Bring breakfast. A lot of it. And coffee. A lot of that too…No, he’s been sleeping...” Bobby sighed. “I hear you, Sam. Get back to your daddy’s side. Call us when he wakes up and you’re on your way.”

Bobby flipped the phone closed. Jim looked at Bobby anxiously. “What’s going on?”

Bobby pulled off his ball cap and ran his hand through his hair after put the phone back in his pocket. “John woke up, him and Sam talked, Sam told him about that thing we’ve got locked up in there and …Johnny had a heart attack.”

“Dear Lord,” Jim whispered.

“The doctors brought him back. He seems to be doing okay,” Bobby reassured his friend. “Sam’s going to stay by him until he wakes back up, then he’s going to come back here for a spell.”

“What else?” Jim asked, seeing there was more that Sam told Bobby.

“Sam and I got the basement all set up for Sam’s buddy before Sam left except for the mattress. I found a mattress when I went out earlier, I just ain’t brought it in yet. Sam wants us to move “Dean” down there so’s he can be more comfortable,” Bobby finished sourly.

Jim leveled his gaze on Bobby. “He could try to escape and something unfortunate could happen in the process.”

“Jim! I’m surprised at you!” Bobby said then grinned. “Stealing my ideas like that.”

Both men stared at each other for several seconds each contemplating the outcome of such a deed.

Jim finally heaved a sigh. “And if the DNA test came back positive—“

“We could lie,” Bobby interrupted. “No one need know but us.”

Jim’s gaze cut to the darkened room where their prisoner slept. “But what if it is John’s son?” Jim asked softly. “We don’t have a right to take him from them.”

“I’d say the human’s long since been burned out of that thing in there,” Bobby growled. “You saw what it did to Johnny. You know what it did to the other hunters it killed. It doesn’t deserve any kind of consideration or mercy and you know it.

Jim slowly shook his head. “Salvation and forgiveness is open to all men. As much as the hunter in me wants to see that man dead, the pastor in me says we must give him—give Sam—his chance at bringing redemption to the man. We will have to make sure Sam’s idealism doesn’t make him foolish, but we owe him the opportunity to try and have some faith in him and in God. If that man is indeed Sam’s brother and John’s son, while they may have been separated by evil, perhaps God brought them back together for Dean to find his way home to his family.”

Bobby glared at Jim and shook his head. “I don’t see how God can forgive the things that man’s done.”

“Salvation is open to everyone Bobby. We don’t have the right or wisdom to judge.”

Bobby’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he finally gave a sharp nod. “After I get that damned mattress downstairs we can get to making that bastard more comfortable,” Bobby growled, picking up the tranquilizer gun and checking it before setting it aside. He zipped up his coat and slid his hands into his gloves. He gave Jim a sly grin. “Course, Sam didn’t say we couldn’t scare that demon spawn just a little ‘fores we put him to sleep and carry him down to his new prison.”

* * *

All of Dean’s struggles so far had done nothing more than piss him off. Rather than loosening, fighting against the chains that bound him only shifted them in a certain way that seemed to make them tighter. Well, that, and causing the blanket that had been wrapped around his shoulders to slip off and fall to the ground. Making him cold and adding to his annoyance.

If he could just get the shackles off from around his wrists… but they were simply bound too tight. Even with the thumb he’d broken earlier to get free from the handcuffs it wasn’t enough to let him slip his hand free. His efforts leaving his wrists beneath the cold metal were torn and bloody, dripping down his fingers, and nothing more.

Dean cursed under his breath as he slumped back into the chair. Knowing the only way he’d get the shackles off is if he somehow took off one of his hands. It had certainly crossed his mind, like a wolf caught in a trap he was willing to do whatever he had to in order to escape, even if it meant gnawing off his own leg… but he wasn’t really ready to do it at _this_ point. Soon he might have no other choice but now he’d keep trying to get free in other ways.

Unfortunately his efforts to get the damn mojo bag, or whatever it was, off from around his neck also proved fruitless. Not that he had much mobility to begin with to try, but he had managed to bend enough to get his teeth around the strap. Trying to work it free, and a strange jolt had passed through him, almost like an electric shock, and he’d given up on that idea. The pouch’s magic obviously also extended to him removing it, meaning he couldn’t.

These hunters were annoyingly… thorough.

Dean lifted his head when he heard the approach of footsteps towards his room. A light from a hand held lamp appearing in the doorway not long after and the young man sneered at the hunter standing there. Had he come to finish the job? With Sam gone, what was to stop him? Dean remembered the uneasy feeling he’d experienced upon waking before. Of hearing the tone of the hunters’ voices even though he couldn’t pick up actual words, and couldn’t help but wonder if something had indeed happened to the younger man. Perhaps he wasn’t coming back at all.

“What’s the matter, hunter? Something happen to little Sammy?” Dean’s tone was mocking of course, but a part of him was genuinely curious.

* * *

“What’s the matter demon-bitch,” Bobby sneered back, “we get you trussed up too well to wriggle your slimy ass free? Aw and your little Jedi mind tricks are just as tightly under lock and key, aren’t they?” Bobby gave a hearty laugh. “And you lost your woobie for your troubles.” Bobby swept the fallen blanket aside with his foot.

Jim followed Bobby in, a dark satchel over his shoulder and his 9-mm pointed at the man in chains. His shoulder still throbbed dully where the man had skewered him, the cold only making the wound ache worse.

After Jim moved around and behind the man, he holstered his gun and then carefully set the satchel on the table. Bobby followed him and they both made certain then bound man couldn’t see them without twisting around to watch them. Bobby gave Jim a smirk and when he saw the man obviously tensing, ready for whatever they were going to dish out. The man was too stubborn or too proud to turn to watch them.

Bobby helped Jim get the supplies out of the bag, making sure to clink bottles together, open and close Velcroed pockets, and generally make subtle noises of preparation.

“This the one you want?” Jim asked Bobby, noisily moving more things around on the desk.

“No, that’s the last one. That’s the one that’ll hurt the most. We want to start with this one.”

“I thought that was the poison,” Jim whispered softly.

“Yeah, but it won’t kill him. Not until it starts to combine with the others, anyhow. It’ll take some time,” Bobby murmured back.

Meticulously, Bobby aligned each item in sequence for Jim. He opened the bottle of alcohol and wet down a cloth. Moving up behind the man, he ran the cold alcohol soaked cloth over the man’s neck, above the leather collar Jim had placed there with the chain that ran down to the chair’s cross bar underneath. The man’s thick muscles tightened that much more. Bobby was surprised the man hadn’t flinched. A bit annoyed by it as well. After wordlessly cleaning his neck thoroughly with the alcohol, Bobby tossed the cloth aside.

Slowly he walked around to stare down at the man. In the dim light he could barely tell the man’s eyes were green, but they smoldered as they met his gaze defiantly.

“Who’s the next target in your demonic hit parade, Bitch?” Bobby demanded.

* * *

Dean glared death at the hunter’s reply but said nothing more. Guessing their intentions immediately when he saw the other hunter, the one he’d attacked earlier and unfortunately failed to kill, enter as well with the bag over his shoulder. Though Sam had been unwilling to resort to torture to get the information they wanted out of him Dean had no doubt that these two men held no such qualms.

He wondered briefly if the younger man had told them to do this, or… what did it really matter? He didn’t need the little hunter brat to protect him.

Both of the hunters moved behind him then where he couldn’t see what they were doing. Whispering to themselves, though not soft enough that he couldn’t understand them. Scare tactics, he knew them well.

Though he tensed, preparing for the pain they were about to inflict though he refused to turn around, as though he didn’t care what they were about to do to him. Refusing to give them that satisfaction. Though he tensed a little more he also almost laughed when he felt the cold wet cloth touch his neck and smelled the unmistakable scent of disinfectant. They were about to torture him and they were worried about him getting an infection?

Amateurs.

The first hunter returned to stand in his line of vision once more, demanding to know which hunter would die next, and Dean merely smiled smugly up at the man.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

* * *

Bobby gave a nod to Jim who jabbed the needle into the side of the man’s neck and pushed the warm liquid into the man’s vein.

Bobby grinned at the man. “Ah, now don’t that feel nice?” he said. “Bet it’s good and warm. Maybe take the chill off you since you lost your woobie. You ought to feel it branching out through those veins of yours now.”

Bobby sat down in the chair Sam had sat in before, watching the man with amusement. He saw the man’s scorn and he really didn’t care. To be honest, he didn’t care if he put any fear into the man. It simply made him feel as if he’d done something, even if only unsettling to the man, something to touch that demonic soul since salt water wouldn’t work. Hmm. Demonic soul…

“You feel that working in your system yet? A little flushed maybe, a little twitch here or there?” Bobby cocked an eyebrow at him. “Give it a bit of time if you don’t. You will.” Bobby rubbed his chin. “So want to try that question on for size again?”

Bobby met the man’s level gaze, the man lifting his chin just a bit in defiance.

“No?” Bobby said. “Jim give him the next one.”

Jim could feel the coolness of the liquid even through the syringe. They made sure it wasn’t too cold of course. He shoved the needle into the man’s flesh and pushed the plunger.

“Now that one,” Bobby said. “That one ought to feel just a bit icy. It’ll react nicely with the warm one, once the two get together to play.”

“While we’re waiting on that one to take effect, I thought we might experiment. See, I made that magic bag you have around your neck. It won’t come off, the cord can’t be cut, can’t be broken. You got sprayed with some of that concoction by Sam. I was kinda wondering what would happen if we gave you an injection of it. Just to see, you know. Might not hurt you. Might react badly with whatever demonic powers are still bound up by my magic bag. Unless you feel like talking.”

* * *

The needle that was jabbed into the side of his neck didn’t feel comfortable in the least, but it wasn’t exactly painful. At least, not in a way he was used to. He barely felt it. However the feeling of the warm liquid being quickly carried through his veins felt odd to say the least. It didn’t feel pleasant but it wasn’t exactly painful either.

Just what the hell were they playing at?

Dean merely scowled at the hunter sitting across from him in reply, the man’s questions and threats only annoying him. Were they trying to scare him into talking? If they were they would be sorely disappointed. He hadn’t been lying to Sam when he’d said there was nothing he could do to him, no pain he could inflict, that could rival what the torturers of hell had trained him to endure.

The next shot he was given was far less pleasant of course. The icy feeling running through his veins making his muscles ache terribly and he winced slightly but made no other indication that the injection had affected him.

“I think you’re doing enough talking for the both of us.” Dean mocked. A little annoyed that his suspicions about the pouch had been confirmed, but he knew there had to be a way for it to be removed. No magic could be unbroken, that was something his father had taught him. Though that didn’t do him any good right now, especially if the two hunters were intent on killing him.

Still, he wasn’t about to cower under their threats.

“Did you come up with this game all by yourself? What’s the matter, hunter, afraid to get your hands dirty? You know, a decent whip, or a white hot blade are far more effective means. Just ask John Winchester.” Dean smirked evilly.

* * *

Bobby clenched his jaw at the man’s comment. Bobby had been debating whether or not to actually try a bit of his herbal infusion as an injection. Some of the herbal components could be deadly even in small quantities. He and Jim had discussed the merits of testing it and had decided to wait, but not now. Not after that.

The syringe was already prepped; Bobby had been very careful and measured out only a small portion and diluted it with saline. Thus far they hadn’t given Dean anything more than straight saline taken out of an IV bag. Nothing but salt water, and both of them saw the irony of injecting said salt water into this demonic bastard.

Eyes flashing, Bobby gave Jim a nod. When Jim started to reach for third syringe of saline laced with something to give it a bit of a sting, Bobby shook his head.

“No. The other one,” Bobby growled. Hell, he didn’t know if it would do anything to the man other than maybe cramp up his stomach or make him nauseous. For this particular moment in time, he hoped it would indeed do more. Give the man a taste of what he’d put John through.

Shit, with their luck? It would end up being a pain killer or the best damned high the man had ever had.

“So let’s experiment and see how it compares, eh?” Bobby said and gave Jim the signal.

After a moment of hesitation, Jim injected the smoky colored liquid into Dean’s neck.

* * *

Yes, Dean was well aware that perhaps it was foolish to goad his captors this way. His captors, that unlike Sam for reasons he still didn’t understand, would feel no hesitation in actually killing him. But seeing the look in the hunter’s eyes, seeing how his jaw clenched in anger, knowing Dean had finally hit a nerve, gave him satisfaction and pleasure. They may have him bound, cut off from his powers, but he was not helpless. They let their emotions rule their actions, and that would eventually be the leverage Dean needed to plan his escape.

Dean winced a little again when the third needle was jammed into his neck. The area beginning to get just a little bit tender from the repeated shots. Though his eyes never left the hunter’s, holding his gaze defiantly in a test of wills.

At first he felt nothing. Not a damn thing. Beginning to believe the two hunters really were only toying with him. But then, unlike the first shot he’d been given where the solution had merely felt ‘warm’ he began to feel a burning, like liquid fire, traveling quickly through his veins. He managed to keep his expression impassive through the first minute or so, as the pain steadily grew worse and worse. Until his entire body felt like it was being incinerated from the inside out and his expression finally broke, contorting in agony.

He grit his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut, trying to hold in the sounds of pain but it was in vain. It felt like every cell in his body was on fire. Exploding. Being torn apart. A tortured moan escaping his lips at first. Then a scream. Loud and unrestrained, his body arching against the chains holding him as he started to convulse.

* * *

Both the men were shocked by the violent reaction just that small amount of infusion had brought on. For a few long draws of breaths, Bobby was afraid Dean was going to flat out die from the agony they’d obviously put him in. While the hunter in him rejoiced at the vengeance, and the scholar in him was delighted that they had a new weapon, Robert Singer’s first coherent thought was that Sam was going to kill both Jim and himself.

When the man’s screams finally stopped, Bobby pulled out a sadistic smile. Sam might want to kill him for this, but he wasn’t going to waste an opportunity.

“So how was that, smart ass? Did I get my hands dirty enough for you?” He stared at the sweat drenched man shivering in front of him. “Want to answer my questions now, or should we kick it up a notch? That was only a fraction of my little magic juice.”

Bobby regretted not having another syringe with a higher dose made up and ready, but who would have thought it would be so successful? And why was it so successful, Bobby mused. He’d have to think on that. It shouldn’t do anything more to a human than make them a little sick, if that. This man before them was definitely more than human. Or maybe less than human was more accurate. Salt might not work, but this surely did. He waited on the man’s answer.

* * *

It seemed to go on forever, though Dean knew in reality it could have only been for a few moments, before the pain began to fade. He honestly hadn’t expected it to end, and that almost shocked him more than the pain itself.

Leaving him slumped, weak against the chains, now the only thing holding him up. His entire body shaking. His blood still felt like it was boiling, his muscles twitching with little aftershocks of pain, some of the solution obviously still coursing through his veins. Making him moan softly though it never quite reaching the agony from before. Agony, oddly enough, that he’d never felt before in his life.

Well, it seemed like the hunters could get creative after all…

Dean barely heard the hunter’s question over the sound of his own heart beating loud and hard in his ears. Once more demanding answers. It was almost too much effort to lift his head, but he did anyway. Forcing as much defiance as he could into his expression to cover up the signs of agony the men had put him through.

He spat at the older man. Crude, perhaps, but he was beyond caring at the moment.

“Fuck you.” He hissed. Panting hard. Bracing himself for the promised second injection. Now that he knew what to expect, he knew he could endure it. He’d endured everything else that had ever been done to him, this was no different. Even this, he knew, would be nothing compared to the agonies of hell. What he would endure if he betrayed his father.

* * *

Bobby smiled grimly. That injection had pulled the cockiness out of the man, had brought him down to an almost primitive level. It had not only hurt the man, it had shaken him. Shaken him badly. Given enough time and enough tincture, Bobby was certain he could pull the information they needed from the man. If it didn’t kill him first. To be certain it wouldn’t, Bobby would need to study it more in depth.

It had taken perhaps three minutes before the man’s demeanor broke. He had convulsed and screamed for maybe another three minutes. The man twitched even now and pain was still etched in his features. On a guess, a ten minute cycle or so for that amount of the infusion bobby had used. Would it build up in his system? What had it even done to him in the first place to hurt him so badly? More questions of his own needed to be answered before he risked a higher dose.

Then there was the sticky issue of telling Sam. That talk wasn’t going to go well, and when a Winchester blew, it was never pretty, never mind it was Sam they were talking about. Sam was more like his father than Sam would ever begin to admit. How would they convince Sam this needed to be done? The threat against his friends versus the potential death of what might or might not be his brother. Until they knew if this Dean was Dean Winchester, Sam wouldn’t let Bobby work the man over. That was a given. While they waited for the DNA results, Bobby could experiment using blood and a bit of skin scrapings perhaps. If they needed more than dead skin cells, Bobby could arrange to dig some of those out of the man, Sam or no Sam. He needed to understand this weapon rather than wield it carelessly.

“Give him that next shot, Jim,” Bobby said finally. It was the tranquilizer, but let the man panic a bit before he passed out.

After they were confident the man was out cold, Bobby would carry the bastard’s ass downstairs and re-secure him, just as Sam asked. Bobby had plenty of blood with which to get started on his investigation. He was going to need electricity, so he’d work on stealing some juice from the power company. Getting a hotel room was going to become a necessity as well if they were going to be here for as long as Bobby suspected. Darkly, Bobby wondered if the bastard had any friends out looking for him. He didn’t like the answer that he came up with.

* * *

Dean didn’t tense, didn’t even flinch, when the hunter told the other one to give him the next shot. He only continued to glare at the man, his eyes narrowed in hate, imagining all the ways he would make this foolish mortal suffer for this. He would make him beg for mercy. Make him beg for death a thousand times before he finally allowed it, and Dean would take pleasure in every minute of it.

He had learned his lessons, all of his lessons, well. Did they think that what he had done to John Winchester was all he was capable of? They would learn a new meaning of the word torture before he was through with them.

The young man’s face remained etched in stone even as a needle was once more jammed in his neck. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from screaming, but that didn’t mean he would break. He had endured hours upon hours of training for moments just like this. Tortured within an inch of his life. In the beginning he would always break, he’d only been a child, and then he had been tortured worse for his failure.

He never broke anymore. Never.

But he didn’t feel the pain of before, rather a sluggish heavy feeling creeping through his veins. His vision growing fuzzy. Darkening. It didn’t take a genius to realize he’d been given something other than the ‘promised’ second dose of ‘magic juice’ as the hunter had threatened.

“Coward.” Dean managed to slur out before the tranquilizer did its work. Funny, it was only now he realized they hadn’t answered _his_ question… and even more disturbing perhaps, he still wanted to know the answer. Sam… had something happened to him? Now he wouldn’t know and that bothered him for some reason more than the thought of what these men might do to him while he was unconscious.

A second later he slumped against the chains, out cold.

* * *

Sam sat by his father, his hand resting lightly on the older man’s arm, needing the physical contact to reassure himself his dad was still alive. In those first few hours of waiting, he’d studied his father’s face as he had when he’d first arrived in ICU after he himself had woken from his long slumber. At least the dull throb of the headache he’d had then was long since gone.

He father’s face was bruised and swollen from the abuse Dean had rained down on the man. Sam noticed a few long healed scars his father hadn’t had when they’d parted ways so violently those years ago. He wondered how his father had gotten them and who had been watching his father’s back. Maybe no one had and that was why he’d gotten them. Sam thought he could escape the hunter’s ways and pretend to be normal, but in the process, how many times had John had come close to dying because Sam hadn’t been there for him.

Staring at his father, Sam couldn’t stop himself from gently brushing some of his father’s dark locks off his forehead. His father looked so frighteningly pale.

Jesus, he’d almost lost his dad. Again.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t remember the fury he’d felt back then. The pure hatred he’d felt toward his father and the life his father had tried to mold him into. The life he’d now been forced back into. Grudgingly he admitted his father was right. Had always been right. Whatever had killed his mom and brother—no, just his mother, he amended with hope—would possibly come after him. He had told Sam repeatedly that Sam needed to be ready. Needed to be sharp to face it and protect himself.

Sam hadn’t been.

He had stayed in shape. He had taken all sorts of classes ranging from fencing to boxing to martial arts to hand weapons. If anything had come his way, he wanted to be certain he was ready but he had never expected anything like this.

Safe subjects the doctor had insisted. Nothing to rile the man. When had his and John’s discussions ever been pleasant exchanges? When his dad woke up, he was going to remember what Sam told him and Sam feared those memories would send his father back into cardiac arrest. He would try to find something to say to settle John down and promised himself he wouldn’t fight with John. Now wasn’t the time to be butting heads.

Sam’s thoughts turned back to his maybe-brother. He had dreamed of Dean repeatedly. What if he had told his father about those dreams, described the boy to his dad. Maybe John would have recognized the boy as Dean. They would have hunted for Dean and maybe long ago rescued him. Sam would never have left his father’s side if there was even a slim hope his brother was alive and waiting to be rescued by his family.

Sam had been too selfish to share the boy with anyone. Look what that selfishness had cost them. It was undoubtedly, irrevocably, his fault Dean had been forced to endure the things he’d seen him endure. His father was right about Sam in that regard too. Sam was a selfish bastard. Seemingly, he always had been.

Forcing himself to stop the recriminations, he reminded himself that they weren’t sure it was Dean. It might be anyone. Sam shook his head. Even if the man wasn’t their Dean, Sam had still seen the man’s suffering and done absolutely nothing to try to rescue the man. Nothing. Regardless of whether or not the man was his brother, he still felt it was his responsibility to try to help him. He hadn’t before, but now he could and he would try. Even if his trying had never been good enough for his father, he vowed it would be good enough this time. He would convinced them the man was worth saving, no matter who he was. With a soft bitter laugh, Sam realized he was being selfish again. In order to assuage his own guilt over his failures, he was trying to find a way to atone and fix it. Jesus, he couldn’t get anything right.

Feeling his father begin to shift restlessly, Sam straightened, hopeful his father was waking up. The fear clenching his heart eased when he saw his father’s eyes flutter open.

* * *

  
_Déjà vu._

It was the first real coherent thought that traveled through John Winchester's weary mind as his eyes slowly slid open. Slowly focusing on his surroundings. Recognizing the plain pastel colored walls of his hospital room. The same continuous monotone beeping of the monitors attached to him. Though his memories were scattered and fuzzy at best he could remember more or less how he'd gotten here, being attacked, captured, rescued. He remembered seeing his son, remembered them talking... the details however kept slipping away like sand through his fingers.

He still felt pretty much the same as before, maybe worse, if that was possible, as though he'd been worked over by a trash compactor, or maybe lost a fight with a wood chip grinder. He was almost too tired to care, however. Or maybe too drugged to care was a better description. If being in a hospital was good for nothing else, they had plenty of painkillers ready to dose one up at the click of a button.

He wasn't ready to fall back into that cushion of drug induced unconsciousness however. Something important nagging at the back of his mind. His eyelids felt as though they were being dragged down by heavy weights, almost too much of an effort to keep them open, to try and focus at all. But the warm weight of the hand on his arm was enough to make him try. To make him turn his head to look at his son sitting beside him in the same chair he'd been in earlier, although if possible the younger man looked even more wrung out. Looking hopeful and scared at the same time.

"You look like someone died." John managed to wheeze out, knowing even as he said it the joke was probably in bad taste, but trying anyway to ease the worried expression on his son's face.

* * *

Sam snorted, unsure if in laughter, relief, or shock. Leave it to his father to make a crack about his own close call with a reaper. It occurred to Sam suddenly that his father probably didn’t remember that he’d almost taken that final trip to meet St. Michael.

“Yeah. You. Or you tried to. That doctor of yours was too stubborn to let you die.” Sam managed a weak if watery smile for his father, fighting back his tears. “Don’t do that again.” Sam tightened his grip on his father’s arm briefly. “Sons are supposed to scare the shit out of their dads, not the other way around.”

If his father didn’t remember going into cardiac arrest, it was possible he didn’t remember anything Sam had told him from before. This time Sam had sense enough to let it be. Let his father remember in his own time, when he was ready to deal with the implications. His subconscious was surely attempting to process what Sam had told him and would feed it back to his father as he father could handle it. He hoped.

John’s brown eyes looked dull and drugged and mildly confused. His dad looked so tired and Sam could see what an effort it was for John to stay awake. “Dad, the only thing you need to worry about right now is to get stronger and feel better. The doctor says you’re going to be fine with some time and some rest.” Seeing the concern come into his father’s eyes he reassured John, “I’m fine, just a few bumps and bruises. If I’m not here when you wake up, I’ll try to make sure Jim or Bobby are. I’ll be near by; we’re staying at a place about fifteen or twenty minutes from here. I’m not going anywhere for awhile, okay? I just wanted to be here when you woke up, make sure you were okay.” _Make sure you were really going to wake up,_ Sam added to himself.

“I’ll stay until you go back to sleep, then I’ll be in to visit again this evening.” As an afterthought he added with a wink, “And I’ll try to sneak you in a Snicker’s bar. I guessing you haven’t lost a taste for your favorite fuel.”

Smiling at his father, he honestly hoped John would fall asleep quickly. If John were asleep, John couldn’t be worrying about him or fighting with him about anything. Sam admittedly felt pretty thrashed even though he’d gotten a good deal of sleep waiting on his father to wake up both before the heart attack and after. Not comfortable sleep sitting slumped in a chair far too small for his tall frame, but sleep none the less. With some coffee and food, he’d feel a hell of a lot better. Knowing his dad was okay lifted a tremendous burden from his shoulders, and a bit of guilt for putting so much on his father when he last awoke. Though he wanted to stay, to be by his father, he had an uneasy feeling that something had happened to Dean and felt an equal if not stronger desire to get back to the church to check on his brother—no, dammit—the man with the same name, same birthmark, and same colored eyes as his brother. But maybe not his brother.

"Get some sleep, Dad," Sam encouraged.

* * *

John managed to return his son’s smile with a weak one of his own. Though it was a great effort he also managed to lift his hand to cover the younger man’s on his arm. Squeezing Sam’s fingers, offering what reassurance he could through the touch, since it seemed an even greater effort to talk right now. But he owed his son that much at least.

Though the younger man had joked about it, he could hear the underlying tremor in his son’s voice, a remnant of the fear he’d put Sam through earlier. He was simultaneously touched that Sam cared enough to express it, and a little guilty for having put him through that fear. Sam was right about one thing, his son shouldn’t have to worry about him like that.

Though close on that thought was the realization that if he hadn’t been hurt so badly in the first place then Sam might not be here at all. It took him almost dying to, if not heal the rift between them, at least let them both forget about it for a little while. Forget about their stupid pride long enough to just be father and son again.

Sam was giving him another chance, and he promised himself he wouldn’t waste it.

When his son finally suggested he get some more rest the older man was far too tired to argue, despite the fact that he’d just woken. His concerns eased for the moment by his son’s reassurances he was quickly losing the battle to stay awake. He nodded and chuckled a little at the younger man’s offer to sneak him in some candy.

“King size.” He murmured, even though he wasn’t particularly hungry right now maybe he would be when Sam came back. John gave the younger man’s hand one last squeeze before he gave in to the pull of exhaustion and let his eyes fall closed again.

* * *

Sam carried the bags of food into the church. “Jim, Bobby?” he called out. “I brought breakfast.”

“In here,” Bobby called from the room where Dean had been chained to the chair. Sam walked in and froze in the doorway. The desk where the first aid kit had been spread out was now littered with books, bottles, and bags of herbs and miscellanea. Ropes still lay in haphazard coils on the floor and large splotches of dried blood colored the worn tile. A propane heater sat near Bobby, helping to warm the chilly room.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, his gaze trying to take everything in. Some small glass jars sat filled with a variety of colored liquids and some had herbs mixed in. A Sterno can’s flame burned underneath another container and Bobby added a few drops of one glass container to the one being heated.

“Experimenting with some spell components, what’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Experimenting with spell components,” Sam answered dryly. Sam laughed at the dirty look Bobby gave him as he crossed the handful of steps to the desk. Gently nudging aside some of Bobby’s paraphernalia, he squeezed the bags of food onto the corner of the desk.

“You were supposed to call when you left the hospital,” Bobby said.

Sam looked blankly at him a moment. “I was? Oh, yeah, I was. Sorry. I was hungry, needed caffeine and it just slipped my mind.”

“John’s doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said as he began rifling through the bags. “The doctor said he’ll be sleeping a lot for the next couple days at least. Dad was pretty out of it when he woke up but told him one of us will try to be with him most of the time.”

“And one of us needs to be. No telling when that bastard’s friends might figure out where John is holed up.”

“Is Dean okay?” Sam asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. The feeling that something had happened to Dean had long since disappeared into a mere whisper, and that almost worried Sam more. He knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d seen for himself that Dean was okay.

After jotting down a few notes, Bobby pushed himself to his feet as the smell of breakfast wafted through the room. “Yeah,” Bobby said without meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Did he give you any trouble?” Sam asked, scowling a little at Bobby’s curt response and began pulling out the Styrofoam containers heavy with food. His own mouth was watering. His stomach had begun gnawing on his backbone in anticipation during the short drive from the restaurant to the church.

Bobby came to stand beside Sam, his stomach audibly growling. “No,” Bobby grunted and helped Sam empty the bags of their contents, pushing aside some more of his scrawled notes. He had made little headway understanding his concoction other than to see the rather aggressive reaction it had with the man’s blood. It wasn’t any wonder the stuff hurt like a bitch.

“Did you change out his bandages?” Sam prodded, opening the bag filled with napkins, silverware, salt, pepper, butter, jams, jellies, and syrup and dumped its contents onto the desk. He snagged two sets of silverware, napkins, and a handful of the mini-containers and put them back in the bag.

Bobby gave him the evil eye. “I know what I’m doing, Sam. Besides, I knew if I didn’t, you’d be fool enough to try it with him awake.”

Sam gave a soft huff. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to treat Dean without Bobby or Jim keeping a gun leveled on the man while he did so. Bobby’s comment only reconfirmed to Sam that the other hunters considered him an incapable idiot. So long as they obeyed his wishes regarding Dean, he tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. “Where’s Jim? How’s his shoulder?”

“He’s asleep in the next room. He’s doing okay. I’ll go wake him,” Bobby said, picking up one of the large coffees and taking a sip with a contented sigh. They’d emptied their thermoses hours ago and he’d let Jim get some much needed sleep while he stood guard.

Sam pulled out a couple vials and bottles from his pocket and set them on the old desk. “I got some more morphine, and got some Darvocet. Some bags of saline, IV tubing, needles and other supplies are out in my duffel in the Impala.”

“Good,” Bobby said approvingly. He laid a key card on the desk. “I got us a room at the motel up the road. Since it looks like we’re going to be here a while,” he renewed his glare at Sam, “we’re going to need a place for a warm’s night’s rest, a place to shower and all that. It’s got a kitchenette, too, so we don’t have to be eating out all the time. I paid for three weeks. Don’t know if John will be ready to be released by then, but we can always tack on more days.”

Sam pocketed the card key. “Thanks. I’m going to take this down to Dean,” Sam said gathering two bags. This time it was he that avoid Bobby’s eyes as he left the room, ignoring the disapproving look he felt boring into his back. He had a feeling Bobby was hiding something from him regarding Dean and was anxious to confirm Bobby’s words were true that Dean was fine.

Mid morning light filtered in through the dirt-coated narrow windows nestled high in the basement walls. Dean sat on the old mattress Bobby had found, his injured leg stretched out before him, his back against the wall. His head was tilted back, resting against that same concrete block wall until Sam started down the stairs. Sam felt an absurd surge of relief at seeing Dean was okay.

Sam was pleased to see Bobby had brought a propane heater down for Dean and the basement, while not exactly toasty warm, wasn’t that uncomfortable. Bobby also put a shirt on the man, Sam’s old red plaid flannel shirt and had left him a decent blanket that was now loosely draped over the man’s shoulders. Fresh bandages were on Dean’s leg, and gauze was now wrapped around the man’s wrists, just enough to keep the shackles from rubbing the damaged skin. Sam frowned to himself a little, but decided it was likely damage the man had done to himself in an effort to escape rather than anything Bobby or Jim had done.

He raised an eyebrow at the flash of…something…that crossed Dean’s face when he saw Sam. His insisted to himself he’d merely imagined a moment that Dean’s face had mirrored his own relief.

“I brought breakfast for us. You looked like a pancake type of guy, but I got you some scrambled eggs, toast, and plenty of bacon and sausage just in case. I got some coffee for you too, but I swear if you launch that hot coffee at me instead of drinking it, you’ll get ice water and bread from here on out.”

* * *

Dean opened his eyes and lifted his head when he heard the sound of booted footsteps coming down the stairs. Tensing as he waited for one of the hunters to appear, ready to pick up where they'd left off earlier.

He'd been waiting for some time now. It had been a couple of hours at least since he woke, not that he had any real way of measuring time down here. The small shafts of light filtering in through the dirty basement windows told him nothing except that it was daytime. It could have been morning, noon, or evening for all he knew. All he really knew was that he'd been the hunters' prisoner for about two days now, and considering the change in his surroundings, would be for quite some time.

Dean had been rather surprised when he woke lying on an old musty smelling mattress rather than bound in the chair still. For a second he'd forgotten where he was. Thought that maybe he was back 'home' again, before he realized if he really was home right now he'd probably be far less 'comfortable' than he was now. Then he remembered what had happened.

The hunters giving him that injection and the pain it had caused him. His muscles still ached terribly from the punishment, but it was nothing he couldn't endure. Part of it could also be stiffness from being chained in one uncomfortable position for so long. It was difficult to tell. Probably both. Didn't really matter.

There were new chains around his wrists that connected to the wall and were just long enough that he could lie down, sit up, even stand. Though not long enough for him to move more than a foot away from the mattress. His ankles were also bound together with a shorter chain, probably in an effort to keep him from trying to use his legs to kick at his captors. Not quite as elaborate as before, but still effective, as long as his powers were bound.

He wasn't sure what had prompted the changes, the shirt and blanket to say the least, but he knew sooner or later the hunters would be back to make good on their threat. Therefore he was a bit surprised to see Sam rather than one of the other two men. Alone, for that matter. Carrying bags that contained food if the smell was anything to go by.

So nothing had happened to the younger man after all, Dean quickly shifting his expression to a neutral one to hide the flicker of relief he felt. Though he supposed there was nothing wrong with feeling relief. As long as Sam was here his 'friends' wouldn't touch him, right? And if nothing else it meant that he still had a chance to complete the task his father had given him. Not that that would really save him at this point.

Dean's eyes glanced down at the bags the younger man carried and then back to Sam's face, frowning a little at the threat. He was fucking tired of threats. Maybe he should eat, but he didn't feel particularly hungry right now. The smell of the food making his stomach grumble and feel queasy at the same time. Another side effect of the injection? Who knew.

"I'm not hungry." He finally replied wearily, shaking his head in refusal before leaning it back against the wall again.

* * *

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. Wasn’t hungry? How the hell couldn’t he be hungry? Dean had eaten one crappy burger and some fries in the past two days or so and who knew when he’d eaten before that. Sam was starved. Sure, he hadn’t wanted food while he was sitting beside his father, waiting to make sure he was okay, but since his father had woken up, Sam could think about other things now. Like food and coffee, and his maybe-brother.

If Dean’s look was anything to judge by, he had upset Dean with his crack about the coffee. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he had been joking. Hot coffee in the face would be something he would be tempted to pull if their situations were reversed.

Sam moved a little closer and studied the man. Dean didn’t look well. He was pale and looked like he might throw up. Crap. One of his wounds must be infected. Bobby would have told him about that, wouldn’t he? Would he have given Dean any antibiotics? No, probably not. Maybe this is what Bobby had been hiding from him.

Setting down the bags Sam eased closer to Dean. He knew the reach of the chains, and warned himself to be careful. Bobby’s words about foolishly approaching Dean echoed in the back of his mind. Okay, so maybe he was an idiot. If he couldn’t trust Bobby to tell him what was going on, that left Dean, so what choice did he have?

After a moment of hesitation, and carefully balancing his weight to shift backwards if the quick-reflexes of the man struck against him, he leaned in and put his hand on Dean’s forehead. Concern crossed his face. “Christ, you’re burning up,” Sam murmured.

* * *

Dean’s eyes followed the younger man’s every movement carefully. Watching as Sam set down the paper bags and approached him slowly. The younger man watching him just as closely and it was kind of comical really. After all, wasn’t he supposed to be the defenseless one here? Maybe the younger man wasn’t as foolish as he’d thought, then again, since they both knew Sam was effectively putting his hand into the cage of a cornered predator, and the fact he was doing it anyway…

The thought had briefly crossed his mind of attacking the younger man once he came within reach. To use his own chains to wrap around the other man’s throat, break his neck if he wanted, but what would that really gain him? Absolutely nothing. He still couldn’t get out of the chains, he still couldn’t use his powers, and one shout from the young hunter would bring the others. He would die seconds after Sam. Pointless.

Gaining the younger man’s ‘trust’, making him think he really was as weak and helpless as he looked right now, letting the foolish man believe he was falling for his tricks and acts of ‘kindness’… now that could prove invaluable in the near future. So Dean remained utterly still, tense, ready just in case he was being the trusting fool and Sam actually had something prepared he wouldn’t like…

But the younger man’s fingers merely brushed lightly across his forehead, resting his palm there, and Dean frowned wondering exactly what Sam was doing. Puzzlement crossing his own features at the expression of concern that broke out on the younger man’s face a moment later as he stated the obvious.

“It’s nothing…” Dean finally said after a moment, being careful not to move even an inch, not even to shift away from Sam’s touch so he wouldn’t appear a threat.

* * *

The man had kept a close eye on Sam, as wary of Sam as Sam was of him. That Dean hadn’t flinched away from him or seemed ready to lash out at him heartened Sam, but that small achievement was lost in his worry at the heat he felt under his hand. Of course he knew the man, even as sick as he was, was more than capable of striking against him. The stitches along his chest from the hellhound clearly reminded him that Dean had fully intended on hurting if not killing him. Likely, as far as Dean was concerned, nothing had changed and if he were free, he’d surely attack Sam again given the opportunity. At the moment he wasn’t free. At the moment, he was Sam’s responsibility. He’d failed Dean all these years by keeping Dean a secret, by leaving him at the mercy of the demons. Even if Dean wasn’t his brother, he was going to help him. Even if Dean still wanted him dead at the end of all this, Sam was going to do what his heart told him and his heart told him he had to save the man. If he couldn’t, the only alternative was to kill him. And he didn’t want that to be the result. Another death because of him just wasn’t acceptable.

“It’s not nothing, Dean,” Sam said firmly. “One of your wounds must be infected. If one of those wounds goes septic, it could kill you. I’m not going to let that happen. Bobby must have missed seeing it when he re-bandaged your wounds.” Sam tried hard to believe Bobby hadn’t seen it rather than ignoring it. “Does one feel worse than the others? I can get it cleaned out, get some antibiotics and aspirin in you. I’ll get some ice and we’ll try to get this fever broken. Which wound is it? Can you tell?”

* * *

Dean lifted an eyebrow at the younger man’s rather passionate speech. The seemingly genuine concern the younger man was showing for his health pretty much confirming to him that the younger man had nothing to do with the other hunters decision to ‘experiment’ on him before.

He’d had his doubts for a moment or two after waking up. That maybe Sam, unwilling to get his own hands dirty, had just told his friends to do the deed for him. Now it was pretty obvious that the other hunters had not even told Sam what they’d done.

That thought almost made him smirk as he finally shook his head slowly looking squarely into the younger man’s eyes.

“It has nothing to do with my wounds. More likely the injection of this,” Dean pointed to the pouch hanging around his neck, though he didn’t touch it. “That ‘Bobby’ gave me earlier.”

* * *

Dean's green eyes held a weary, almost sad laughter as he met Sam's gaze steadily. Sam's eyes flicked from Dean's and then went to the pouch. He suddenly spied the ugly red welt on Dean's neck that had been all but hidden by the shirt collar. His gaze cut back to Dean's and he knew the man wasn't lying to him. Sam felt his rage flash through him. He barely heard the chair that Bobby had brought down and set outside of Dean's reach skitter across the floor and slam into the wall. Sam slowly straightened, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

Bobby and Jim, they'd been like uncles to him. Their homes were the only places that had ever been a safe haven for his father and him. Sam had spent many days playing in the old junkyard, playing chase and tug of war with Bobby's dog. He'd spent days helping Pastor Jim straighten the church, polish the pews, and tend the flowerbeds around the building. They meant the world to him. Yet they ignored his request to let Dean be. What was so fucking hard about leaving the man alone until they knew if he was Dean Winchester? They fucking experimented on him! The spell bag worked against Dean's abilities. The infusion of oil work against Dean's abilities. Injecting the man with a solution of the spell components? Experimenting just to see what happened?

Sam took the stairs two at a time and the door swung open violently with barely a touch from his hand. As he stormed down the hall, Bobby and Jim stepped out of a side room, guns leveled on Sam. Both hunters visibly relaxed, seeing it was Sam.

"With all that ruckus, Boy, we though the bastard had gotten lose or something," Bobby said, relief coloring his words.

Stalking up to Bobby, he ripped the shotgun from Bobby' and shoved him against the wall, his hands fisted tightly in Bobby's denim coat. "What the hell were you doing Bobby? What if you'd killed him? God dammit, he might be my brother! I trusted you to watch over him, to keep him safe! And you fucking injected him with something you said yourself was still in the fucking field test stage!" Sam let go of Bobby and spun on Jim. "And you! You're supposed to be a man of God. He is not a demon! How can you justify letting Bobby do what he did?"

"Son--" Bobby began.

"I'm not your son! Apparently what I want, what I think is important doesn't mean a damned thing to you. To either of you!"

"Now you listen here, Boy," Bobby exploded. "That thing downstairs nearly killed your daddy. He tortured John for hours! He went after you, he went after us. We'd all be dead now if not for you managing to get that spell bag around his throat. You know damn good and well I'm right. Whatever he once was is gone. Even if he is your brother, he's not human anymore Sam! If I mix that infusion with his blood, it practically boils!"

Jim stepped closer to the two. "Sam, that man downstairs may not be a demon, but he has demon in him. You saw what he could do with his abilities. With hardly an effort he blocked that doorway with those massive machines and controlled half a dozen hellhounds. Nothing human can do that."

"So we should just kill him," Sam snapped at the two.

"He's evil Sam," Jim said. "Surely you've got to see that."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "I'll tell you what I see. I see a young kid beaten and tortured for years, who cried himself to sleep every time they let him rest. I see a boy forced to use his abilities to hurt people, taught to hurt people and to like it because if he didn't he'd just shatter. I see a man who has never, ever had anyone show him kindness of any sort, never tell him that he was loved, that he had value beyond being the killer they made him into."

"You can't know that," Bobby countered, discounting Sam's words as anything but outlandish imaginings. "Some people are just born to do evil."

"He wasn't!" Sam yelled, feeling the hot tears begin to spill down his face. "He was my friend! He was there for me when I needed him, and I was there for him when he needed me!"

The two hunters gaped at Sam as if he'd gone mad.

Sam turned from them. "I've dreamed about him all my life. I was there with him through some of it. I felt everything he felt when they tortured him. And when Dad tore me away from school after school, friend after friend, he was there for me. When Dad trained me so hard I cried at night because I hurt so badly, he comforted me. If he's not my brother, then why did I dream about him? Why did he dream about me? How did I know in the hospital something had happened to him?" Sam turned back to face them. "I never expected it to be my friends that did it. That went against what I asked from them. Who I asked to trust me. This one time, to have some measure of confidence in me." Sam wiped at his tears. "You do anything like that to him again and I swear you better not let me catch hold of you. I know what he did. I know what he is. I also know what he can be if someone will just try to reach him. He's my brother. I know he is. And I left him to those demons all those years. I fucked up. I failed my brother. I won't fail him now."

Sam pierced Bobby with his gaze. "He's burning up with fever. How do we fix it? Can you make anything to counter the poison you put into him?"

Bobby was struggling to keep up with everything Sam had revealed and could do little more than just stare at him, dumbfounded.

"Bobby!" Sam yelled. "Can we fix it?"

Snapping out of his stupor, Bobby rubbed his chin and he fought to get his head around it all. "Yeah. We should be able to flush it from his system. I can make up some tea that should do the job." Bobby walked to the room with all his supplies, shaking his head.

"Sam, I'm sorry," the pastor said softly.

Giving a curt nod, Sam could only collapse against the wall. The adrenaline surged through his system and he felt his hands shaking. "We could see each other. We could sort of touch, just a light ghostly type touch. We couldn't talk to one another, but we could feel each other. He always made me feel safe, Jim. He made me feel protected and cared about." Sam gave a weak laugh. "He was my best friend and he wasn't more than a ghost to me. Hell, I didn't really believe he was anything more than an imaginary friend I just never let go of."

"Then you can't blame yourself for not saving him," Jim counseled. "You can't heal him with guilt. Only love can heal him."

Bobby returned with a thermos he was vigorously shaking. "Get him started on this. It's cold, it's a little weak, but I'll get a stronger batch made up. This should get the flushing started." He handed the thermos to Sam. "I'm sorry. Don't blame Jim. It was all my idea. I still don't approve of what you're doing, but I understand it. At least I'm trying to understand it."

Sam accepted the thermos with a nod and headed back downstairs. He gave Dean a half-hearted smile. "This should help," he said and opened the thermos. He sat down next to Dean and held it out to him. If Dean was going to attack him, then Sam probably deserved it. He was too wrung out to care at the moment. When Dean just stared at him, Sam forced it into Dean's hand. "It will help. Now drink."

* * *

Dean’s eyebrows rose in surprise. His gaze shifting to where the chair flew across the room, crashing loudly against the wall, then back to Sam. The younger man giving absolutely no indication he’d heard much less realized what he’d done. The anger burning in Sam’s eyes, the air practically crackling with it, would have made the older man a little nervous if he hadn’t known it wasn’t directed at him.

Even so when the younger man turned and ran up the stairs Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Temper, temper, Sammy.” He muttered under his breath.

The whole thing should have been amusing to no end, instead Dean was left feeling quite stunned. Not because Sam was angry at what the other hunters had done, because he’d been expecting that. Why he’d decided to tell the younger man in the first place. Well, it was either that or the younger man calling him a liar, refusing to believe him. That would have been just as likely an outcome.

However he hadn’t quite been prepared for this level of rage the younger man had displayed. On his behalf no less. Perhaps Sam had been kind to him, well, after at first threatening to torture him and digging his fingers into his wounds. But the fact remained that he was still a prisoner, they were enemies, and Dean hadn’t really expected Sam to turn against his own ‘kind’ so easily.

And yet he could hear Sam’s shouts, though he couldn’t hear the actual words he could hear the outrage in his voice. If this was still all just an elaborate ‘act’ of some kind it was damn convincing. After a while it grew quiet once more upstairs and Sam came back downstairs.

Dean still watched the younger man warily, though Sam showed no hesitation as he approached him. Going so far as to sit down beside him on the mattress and the older man raised an eyebrow. There was one thing to do something foolish but at least with some caution at the same time, it was another to insanely disregard one’s own safety, which was what Sam was doing now. Was he really that trusting?

He looked between the younger man and the thermos Sam pushed into his hand, immediately distrusting whatever was inside of it, and frowning at the order to drink. For a moment Dean considered refusing, but remembering what he was trying to accomplish, he finally took a cautious sip. Making a face at the bitter taste, but he’d had worse. When it seemed to produce no ill effects, for instance the burning pain from what he’d been injected with before, he drank a little more.

* * *

Sam watched as Dean reluctantly sampled the cold tea. Sam laughed softly. “Taste’s bad? I’m not surprised. Bobby’s going to brew some stronger tea for you and this should help get the crap out of your system that he put in you. It’ll probably taste worse that that.” Glancing over at the covered bucket that was Dean’s “facilities”, Sam added, “You’ll probably be pissing a lot over the next handful of hours as it cleans you out.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said sincerely. “It won’t happen again, not if I have any say in the matter. Jim and Bobby, they’re good men, they’re like family to me and Dad. If you weren’t…who you are…this would all be going a lot differently. They’re not ready to forgive you for what you did to Dad and the other hunters.” Sam pushed himself up from the mattress and went over to the rapidly cooling food. “Don’t think I’m all soft-hearted and stupid.” He grimaced. “I get enough of that from them.” After pulling out the containers of food, he sat cross-legged on the floor and rummaged through the containers until he found what he wanted. “I know what you did. I think I understand why you did it.” A sigh whispered from between his lips and he drank a bit of his coffee. “I would imagine you enjoyed it, too. That’s what they taught you, after all.”

Staring down at the food, he paused, his mind tumbling through possibilities. How was he going to reach through the years of abuse and brain-washing? Slowly. One small victory at a time, he told himself. He poured a couple containers of syrup over his pancakes.

Looking back up at the prisoner, he told him. “I believe you’re my brother. Even if I’m wrong, I do know we were friends throughout all these years and the small bits of our lives that we shared with each other have always meant a lot to me. You know as well as I do they weren’t just dreams.

“I’m guessing you were sent after me for some reason. I haven’t hunted in years. I tried to get out of that life, but you know that. I don’t understand why any demon would care whether I live or die. I wanted out of that world and had intended to stay out of that world until Yellow Eyes—and you--dragged me back in. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to at least tell me why you came after me? Why some demon wants me dead?” Sam asked hopefully as he began to eat.

* * *

Dean scowled, clearly showing what he thought about ‘Bobby’ making him anything. He had half a mind to refuse to drink the rest of what Sam had given him. He wouldn’t put it past the other hunters to try to poison him again, maybe without even the younger man knowing it. But considering how much like shit he felt ever since he’d been injected with that crap he wondered if it would have mattered anyway.

It could be slowly killing him for all he knew. The stuff he was drinking now could kill him, he could take his chances and possibly get worse from the injection earlier, or he could drink and _maybe_ get better.

Dean snorted a little at the younger man’s reassurance that it wouldn’t happen again, not to mention his talk about what ‘good’ men his friends were. He didn’t give a damn one way or another, but he took another drink of the bitter tea anyway. He didn’t have much to lose right now.

He didn’t know whether or not to sigh or roll his eyes when the younger man went on and on about ‘understanding’ him. Sam certainly liked to talk, it seemed, and again Dean didn’t really have a choice but to listen. Captive audience, and all that. He didn’t really care one way or another. The boy could talk, try to understand him all he wanted, it wouldn’t change anything.

He knew what he was. He knew what Sam was too. There was only one fate for the both of them.

Dean looked away when the younger man once more began speaking about their dreams. What they’d seen of each other as children… It made him uncomfortable to say the least. It dredged up confusing feelings inside of him that he didn’t want to examine. It also didn’t really matter. Whatever they were, might be, might have been, to each other, it changed nothing. Not for either of them.

He could not disobey his father, not even for… not if he didn’t want to suffer a fate worse than death. Dean knew well there were plenty of fates far worse than death.

“No.” He finally answered simply, shaking his head, to the younger man’s question. He didn’t want to believe that Sam meant anything to him. Those kinds of feelings made one weak. Foolish. Dean was neither. After a few moments of silence Dean finally looked back at the younger man.

“You know I’m not going to tell you anything. You know you’ll have to eventually kill me in the end. Why bother keeping me alive now?” Dean finally asked, genuinely curious.

* * *

That Dean didn’t believe he was safe from the injections didn’t surprise Sam. He could only be glad Dean continued to drink the tea. It wasn’t hard to see that none of his words reached the man. Trying to tell himself that Dean didn’t feel the same things he had through the years—no, dammit, Dean had! Sam had wiped the frightened boy’s tears away, figuratively, anyhow. They had shared smiles, had shared hurts, and they had shared brotherly kisses of comfort. Even when the man was in his teens, he’d asked for that gentle single kiss before he tried to fall asleep after whatever the torture of the day had been. Sam would kiss him, lay down beside him, and try to make him feel as safe as Dean had made him feel.

Sam gave slight snort at Dean’s simple “No”. He wasn’t trying to start an inquisition. He just wanted to know why some demon decided to take everything that meant anything to him away. _But I guess in a way, I got back two things I never thought I would, even if only for a little while. My dad and brother,_ Sam thought.

He contemplated how to answer Dean’s question. What could he say? He knew it was probably the truth that they would have to kill him, purely in self-defense in nothing else. He knew if he were to let Dean go right now, Dean would try to kill him. Try to kill his father and Bobby and Jim. They couldn’t keep him locked up forever. And Dean was no idiot. If nothing else, he’d try to convince Sam that he believed Sam, that he embraced whatever Sam offered. He’d tell Sam anything to gain Sam’s trust. Like that scorpion that wanted to cross the river and convinced some animal it wouldn’t sting it if it helped the scorpion. Halfway across the river the scorpion stung it anyhow and when the animal protested it had killed them both and wanted to know why, the scorpion simply replied that the animal knew what the scorpion was when it picked it up.

That was Dean. Ready to strike no matter the cost.

Sam smiled grimly to himself. Dean would try to make Sam trust him. Somehow, Sam would have to try to spin that to his advantage, spin that illusory trust into real trust. The rub would come when Sam had to figure out if he’d succeeded or not. _I guess I’ll know when I’m halfway across the river,_ Sam thought darkly.

Finally Sam answered Dean’s inquiry. “Because you’re my brother. We kill you and your soul goes to Hell. You failed in killing me and Dad so some demon is going to be pissed at you. I remember what they do when you fail. If I could sell my soul to get you free of whatever demon you answer to,” Sam suddenly focused all his attention on his breakfast, “I probably would.”

* * *

Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

He honestly hadn’t known what to expect Sam to say, because he honestly didn’t know why he was being kept alive if not to be tortured for information. That’s why he’d asked, after all. But Sam’s answer… he had never expected the hunter to say something like that, even if it was a lie. He also never would have expected his own response.

Not in a thousand years.

Equal measures of confusion and red hot anger welled up inside of him. His fingers tightening around the thermos he held so tight his knuckles turned bone white. Glaring daggers at the younger man across from him and he didn’t even understand why. Why was he angry? Why did the thought of Sam trading himself, selling his soul, for him, enrage him so? Because… it was utterly ridiculous that’s why!

“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about!” He all but growled out, not bothering to hide his anger even if he didn’t understand it.

Foolish. Utterly foolish. Utterly a lie. No one would trade their life, their soul, for an enemy. No one.

“You don’t have the vaguest concept of hell. Don’t talk about things you don’t know shit about!”

* * *

Sam looked up from his meal, surprised by the outburst. It may well have been the first genuine response he’d gotten from the man that wasn’t scorn. The fury he saw in Dean’s eyes came from his very soul. Sam set his food aside and stood, walking closer to the man, but stopping before he was within striking distance. Indignity burbled inside of him and he felt his own anger coil in his belly.

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” Sam asked. “I don’t have any idea what Hell is like?” He laughed bitterly. “It’s being slowly eaten alive by whatever the creature of the day is. It’s having your skin flayed until there’s nothing but tenderized meat, cut at with knives or anything that takes off only the top layers a fraction at a time. It’s the knowledge that this is your life. There is no hope. Nothing will ever change. When you die, you know you’ll end right back on the rack, only this time, they can do things to you they can’t now. You know that in the now, it may get worse, but it’ll never get better and no one gives a damned about you, except some little dream-boy who watches you, who you see suffer along with you.” Sam had been recalling more and more of the dreams of Dean, though this particular one he’d never forgotten. “And then one day, one day that the torture is particularly bad because you told them something you weren’t suppose to and you’re paying for that failure, you saw the little ghost boy there. The torturers had been working on you for a long time. But then they cut you especially slowly, especially deeply, across your back. And for the first time you saw that dream boy fall to his knees and scream. You saw the blood on his own back and you saw that for the first time he suffered physical damage that mirrored yours.” Sam paused and stared down at the man. “No matter what hell they put you through after that, you never told them anything again. Not ever.”

Sam’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. He turned his back on the man and took off his shirt. The same scar that Sam had traced over Dean’s back those few days ago, from shoulder blade to kidney, ran along his own. He pulled his shirt back on and turned to face Dean again, his eyes emotionless. “No, Dean, I haven’t any idea what Hell is like. Just like those dreams were only dreams. Just like we mean nothing to each other.”

* * *

Dean all but snarled, his rage bubbling over and needing an outlet, he threw the thermos in his hand across the room. The cheep plastic thing smashing against the wall with a satisfying crack, its contents spilling out all over the floor, never mind that he might have just thrown away what would heal him, or at least keep himself from getting sicker, he didn’t care. He was on his feet in a second, the chains bringing him up short of course, his body swaying dangerously off balance, barely able to stand, but again he didn’t care. He would not let this god damn _human_ talk down to him anymore.

“You know nothing!” Dean shouted again, and he knew he sounded half like a petulant child stomping its foot in a tantrum but he didn’t care. This man couldn’t know what he was talking about. He was lying! Somehow he was lying! Somehow it had to be all a trick! Never mind that all the evidence was stacking up against it to the point of making his continued denial seem nothing but foolish ranting.

“You can’t...” He all but whispered this time and there was a definite plea in the tone of his voice that shocked the hell out of him. But more than that he finally realized what was fueling his irrational anger. Fear. Not for himself. Fear for that boy Sam talked about. Who had been there with him through his whole life. That he forced himself to nearly forget because he was so afraid that his father would see him, see him in his mind and do something terrible to him, or worse, take him away forever.

That boy who couldn’t be Sam Winchester. Just couldn’t be... his brother... like the younger man claimed. Couldn’t be one of his father’s children. The one his father had sent him to claim, or to kill if he were unworthy of his gift. Destined to become his father’s slave. Destined to become like him. He knew his fate. Had accepted it long ago. It couldn’t be changed now. The last thing he wanted was for that boy, he had once labeled his angel, oh god his father would have killed him for that, to share his fate...

No...

Dean shook his head and dropped to his knees, his body simply too weak right now and his strength bleeding away with his anger. A hopelessness filling him he hadn’t felt in years as he curled up on the mattress putting his back to the younger man. Blaming his weakness, his sickness, for his volatile emotions, for his confusion. Dean almost laughed bitterly at the pathetically weak lie he told himself. But it was only those lies that made him feel like he was holding onto a shred of his sanity right now.

“Leave me alone...”

* * *

The launched thermos didn’t come close to hitting Sam but when Dean flew up to his feet with murder in his eyes, Sam involuntarily took a step back. Dean was challenging the truth in front of him. It had taken Sam time to digest it, to accept it. He’d struck out at Dean as Dean now tried to strike out at him. The truth that the murderous killer who they held prisoner was his brother had been unacceptable. Until Jim had threatened Dean. All rationality left Sam in that moment when he jumped to the man’s defense. At that point, he knew in his gut that their prisoner and his brother and dream-friend were one and the same. Even though he hadn’t quite been fully ready to admit that to himself. At this point, he was beyond denying it.

Dean practically pleaded with him to deny it, to tell him it was a lie. The pain in his eyes came from the depths of his soul and Sam saw not only pain, but fear. Fear perhaps that Sam was right. Fear perhaps that he’d almost killed his own brother and father. Fear, that he’d failed completing his job of killing them, and with this truth, he would not be able to follow through. Sam thought back to the things he had seen Dean do through the years. No. Dean would be able to do it. It might shatter him, but he would do it. He’d been trained to follow any order.

But he had always protected the dream-boy—Sam. Sam wondered which would be the strong drive in his brother. To kill him or to protect him.

When Dean collapsed to his knees, shaking his head in denial, Sam saw something he hadn’t seen in Dean in years. Despair. Then Dean sank to the mattress and with his back to Sam, curled up and told Sam to leave him alone.

Sam responded almost purely out of instinct, reacting from all those times he’d comforted his brother throughout their lives. He all but forgot he wasn’t just a ghost to Dean, that he was tangible now…and mortal. He went to Dean’s side, unshed tears stinging his eyes, and slid into place beside him, gently putting his arm over Dean protectively. He didn’t say anything because in the world they’d always existed in, the two couldn’t speak to one another. It didn’t occur to Sam now that anything was any different. His friend was hurting and this was how he’d always comforted him. He shut his eyes briefly as his brain caught up with his emotions, screaming at him to get away from Dean. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Dean needed him.

* * *

Dean stiffened almost immediately in Sam’s arms, his muscles drawing so tight they almost shook with the strain. His mind’s instinct to lash out at his enemy warring with his body’s natural impulse to accept the comfort being offered from this boy, this man, he had needed so much throughout his lifetime.

If Sam had done anything more, if he had spoken a word, Dean probably would have shoved him away ruthlessly or perhaps even done his best to strangle the younger man with his own chains, uncaring of the consequences. But this was too damn familiar, too much like all the other times Sam had comforted him through all the worst pain in his life. The little boy who’d held him and cried with him even when he was too young to understand what was happening. Those soft sweet touches, kisses, the only bit of heaven he’d ever known in a lifetime of hell.

Slowly the tension in his body melted away, closing his eyes as he relaxed in the embrace of the younger man’s arms as he always had. Too tired, or maybe simply unwilling, to fight anymore right now. Unable to deny how much he needed this. Though it had been a while since the last time. So much the same, yet so different too.

More real. Warmer. Stronger. Sam had grown. His arms longer. His body taller, yet still fitting against his so perfectly. Dean shifted his body, turned his head. He didn’t open his eyes, and he didn’t need to. Knowing exactly where the younger man’s lips would be, brushing them with his own, just as soft, just as sweet as he remembered.

* * *

Sam felt the muscles in the fever ridden man harden as he stiffened under Sam's touch, the faintest of tremors running through Dean. Sam refused to let go, refused to be afraid of him and the potential threat he was to Sam's life. Pulling him that much closer against him, Sam kept the hug gentle and laid his cheek against Dean's head. He'd never really had a smell to associate with the older boy and now he could only smell Dean's sweat mixed with a bit of the herb-infused mineral oil that had gotten into a little of Dean's hair.

As the tension in Dean slowly drained away, Dean relaxed against him. Sam knew there was no deceit in this. Dean placed all his trust in Sam and accepted the comfort he needed in their new and confusing world. Sam was surprised by how comforted he himself felt by the familiar touch, by the familiar actions. The world disappeared for him until only he and Dean were left, both of their worlds torn asunder, and he almost clutched at Dean, trying to find something real and seeking his own reassurances. Dean's body and his touched most everywhere and that familiarity was tangible and consoling. To have Dean's solid body pressed against him made his own body relax, brought him his own measure of solace.

He felt Dean shift and only smiled, knowing exactly what Dean was doing, what Dean had always done when they lay together like this, taking comfort from one another like this. He felt the gentle brush of lips on his own, and leaned into it, responding in turn as he always had. A part of him acknowledged Dean's lips were softer and warmer than they ever had been in their ghostly world and he pressed his lips just a little firmer against his friend's. Dean had not been the only one to beg for the comforting kiss to soothe his hurts.

* * *

There was no hesitation in the soft lips pressed against his, returning his kiss. There never had been. Sam’s lips were as soft and welcoming as they’d always been. Ever since they were children, what had begun as tender kisses the younger boy had given him to the signs of tears on his cheeks, had evolved into much more. The soft brush of the younger boy’s lips had always given him more comfort than he’d ever known any other time during his life. Always so sweet, so… pure… holding a certain innocence even when they’d grown older and the soft touches sometimes stirred in him more than just feelings of comfort.

Dean turned a little more in the younger man’s embrace, enough so that he could slip his arms around Sam as well. The sound of the clinking metal chains as he moved around his wrists making him pause for a moment, but only a moment, before he tightened his hold around the other man’s waist, practically pulling Sam on top of him.

Uncaring how the younger man’s weight put a rather uncomfortable pressure against his broken ribs. Uncaring about anything except all of the things he’d never been able to feel before. Never realizing until now how much he’d longed to feel them. The warmth of Sam’s lips. The feeling of the younger man’s breath ghosting across his face. The softness of the hair at the back of his neck, so much finer than his own. His taste… Dean didn’t even realize how he’d let his lips slide apart, let his tongue dart out to lightly trace the younger man’s lips until he’d already done it. The tremble that passed through his body afterward definitely not from fear.

* * *

When Dean tuned to face him, Sam wasn’t particularly surprised. There had been times when they’d laid together that after the gentle kiss they would face each other. The ghostly one would brush the other’s tear streaked face, would lightly run fingers over their hair, trace their jaw line, even their bare chests. Sometimes they would kiss a few more times before curling up against one another. Sometimes their light kisses had stirred deeper feelings in Sam, but being nearly intangible, nothing but unfinished promises could be offered to each other and, as neither needed any additional frustrations in their sorrow filled worlds, nothing had ever been…pursued. The light touches had been chaste and innocent and meant for comfort, nothing more.

When Dean slipped his arms around Sam, Sam almost sighed in contentment. His overloaded emotional state and weary body welcomed the gentle and familiar touch. Sam was startled when Dean suddenly wrapped his arms more firmly around Sam’s waist and all but pulled Sam on top of him. The flinch he felt beneath his weight immediately drove a spike of concern through Sam, worried that his weight had to be hurting Dean’s injuries. He felt one of Dean’s chains drape across him as Dean’s hand moved to the back of his neck. As Dean’s fingers ran slowly through his hair, it sent of a shiver of delight through him. All those times he longed for the ghostly touch to be more was happening now, and his body craved that familiar touch and rejoiced that is was more than the whisper it had always been.

Dean’s tongue tasted and sampled his lips and Sam found his own mouth opening, his own tongue flicking out to touch Dean’s. He pressed his mouth a little closer to Dean’s and ran his tongue around the inside perimeter of Dean’s lips, occasionally flicking his tongue further into Dean’s mouth. Dean’s taste was salty with a hint of bitterness surely left over from the tea. He wanted that bitterness forced upon Dean gone and drove his tongue deeper into Dean’s mouth to try to steal and lick away that offending flavor. He wanted—no, he needed-- to taste Dean without anything there that wasn’t Dean. Gripping Dean tightly, he rolled onto his back, dragging Dean with him so Dean’s weight pressed down on him, freeing Dean of any painful pressure on his injuries rather than risk injuring Dean any further with his own body. The sudden weight on his groin elicited a slow but definite response as his tongue tangled more intensely with Dean’s and a soft moan escaped him.

Although he’d put his shirt back on, he hadn’t buttoned it closed yet and he could feel the heat of Dean’s body through the flannel shirt Dean wore. He wrapped one arm around Dean’s back and pulled them closer still while his other hand slid to the small of Dean’s back. One leg he wrapped around Dean’s, pressing Dean more firmly against his growing arousal and moaned into Dean’s mouth again.

* * *

Though the weight of the younger man atop of him might have been uncomfortable against his damaged ribs and other wounds, Dean was pretty much beyond caring at that point. In fact, he even welcomed the discomfort. It was only further proof how real this was. How real Sam was. Not a figment of his imagination or a dream or a ghost, but flesh and blood, bone and muscle. Something for him to touch, hold on to tightly, and wouldn’t vanish between his fingers like mist.

The warmth emanating from the younger man’s body blanketing him making his already feverish skin even hotter as the kiss between them grew even more heated. The touch of Sam’s tongue meeting his and then delving inside his mouth sending a powerful surge of pleasure through him like an electric current. The younger man’s taste flooding his senses and leaving him feeling drunk on the sudden intense spike of arousal that left him gasping against Sam’s lips as the other man shifted their positions so that he was now lying beneath Dean.

Without missing a beat Dean chased the younger man’s tongue back into his own mouth, eagerly exploring for more of Sam’s sweet taste, savoring the soft moans that slipped from the other man’s mouth. His hands exploring Sam’s body just as greedily, easily slipping inside the younger man’s already loose shirt to trace along flesh and muscle. His fingers tracing along scars he knew so well, following the curve of his spine and up along the firm flat stomach. Even though they’d never even met before he felt like he already knew Sam’s body as well as he knew his own, and at the same time every touch was new. The heat under his palms, the way Sam trembled from even his lightest touch, the strong heart beating beneath his heart as his thumb lightly circled a nipple. A moan escaping his mouth into Sam’s feeling it harden beneath his fingertips.

Though when his other hand came into contact with the bandages across the younger man’s chest, where the hellhound under his control had clawed Sam, Dean’s touch paused. His breath panting lightly across the younger man’s lips as he pulled back slightly, though he didn’t open his eyes. Unwilling to completely break the spell that had fallen over them. Even though, like the heavy chains around his wrists, the wound was a reminder of all the reasons why they should _not_ be doing this. The hot hard press of the younger man’s arousal against him, his own answering just as eagerly, making him not want to care.

Dean said nothing, not with actual words anyway. None were really needed since long ago they’d learned their own language through touch, the lightest brush of his fingers over the bandages a silent regret and apology he could never express any other way, before his arms slipped around the younger man’s back. Closing whatever distance there was between them in every single way, kissing Sam deeply as he pressed his hips even more firmly, rubbing his arousal against the younger man’s. At the same time caressing down from Sam’s shoulder blades to his buttocks. His fingertips just brushing underneath the waistband of the younger man’s jeans.

* * *

When Dean returned the exploration with his tongue, investigating, sampling every bit of Sam’s mouth the bitterness of the tea faded and Sam could finally taste Dean. His taste was earthy and fresh and sweet, and Sam had never tasted anything so right in his life. He welcomed the intense exploration and wanted more, so much more, groaning, almost demanding Dean give him everything.

Dean responded with greater intensity in his kiss and moans of his own as his hands began to explore Sam’s flesh. Callused hands ghosted over Sam as if teasing him that Dean was once again nothing but an apparition. Then his fingers touched a little firmer and every touch was electricity that made Sam tremble and moan, his cock growing harder with each tender touch. When Dean’s thumb circled Sam’s nipple, Sam gasped into Dean’s mouth, arching against his touch, his nipple tightening almost immediately. Sam wanted Dean’s mouth there at his nipple, that sweet tongue and mouth doing things that Dean’s hands couldn’t, but he wasn’t willing to let their kiss end.

Dean’s other hand brushed over the bandages covering his stitches from the hellhound and he felt the pause then gentle touch, the apology for it. As Dean pulled away from the kiss, Dean’s hot breath brushed over Sam’s lips, almost as if waiting for Sam to deny him that forgiveness. Instead of denial, Sam captured Dean’s mouth again, this time sucking then biting Dean’s lower lip. He wanted the hellhounds, the enemy hunter he’d fought, to be a dream. He wanted this to be real, to be the future, ignoring it was his brother igniting such passion and hope in him. Dean’s arms embraced him, pulling him closer and tighter, his tongue delving back inside Sam’s mouth with insistence and demand. He pressed his arousal against Sam’s, rubbing firmly and Sam pressed back, matching his rhythm. He felt Dean’s gently work his hand down Sam’s back until he reached the waistband of Sam’s jean and dipped his fingers between denim and flesh.

The hand Sam held at the small of Dean’s back slid to Dean’s buttocks and squeezed hard a few times feeling Dean’s muscle tense in pleasure. He firmly rubbed down the seam between Dean’s cheeks and Dean groaned deeply, his own fingers delving deeper under Sam’s waistband, eliciting a similar deep groan from Sam.

“Sam! I’ve got the tea for him made,” Bobby called out from upstairs.

Sam froze, his eyelids flying open. He’d all but forgotten they weren’t alone, forgotten they were suppose to be enemies, forgotten what this man had done to his father, to Pastor Jim and to over twenty hunters. He felt the sudden stiffening of Dean beneath his hands, against his body while his body only wanted more from this man…his brother. Could it get much wronger than that?

He couldn’t let Bobby find them like this. If Bobby or Jim saw them in their current state, there would be no way to explain it. They would think Dean had ensorcered him or something and possibly take drastic measures. Sam rolled them back over so he was once again on top as he pushed himself away from the touch he craved. Dean’s eyes had opened and he stared at Sam, his eyes all but emotionless. Sam knew that look. He’d seen it a hundred times when he was but a ghost and it cut him deeper than the hellhound’s claws that had ripped his flesh.

“I’m coming up—“Sam started but his voice was raspy. He cleared his throat, still tasting Dean in his mouth. “I’ll come up and get it,” Sam called out more clearly, while staring down at Dean. Dean’s plump lips, obvious arousal, mussed hair, and even his chains, sent a fresh pulse of arousal to his cock and Sam wanted nothing more than to press down against Dean and kiss him senseless. He knew if he bent down to kiss those enticing lips again, he would be lost in his lust, and he just couldn’t risk that. He forced himself away from Dean, his eyes filled with apology.

Jesus he could barely walk he was so hard. His gaze shot over to the bathroom. “I’ll be up in just a minute Bobby,” Sam called up the stairs. He all but limped his way to the bathroom. He had to ease the painful tightness in his pants; Bobby and Jim couldn’t see this. Hardly having stepped through the door, he freed himself from his pants. Pre-come wept from his cock and he ran his thumb across the crown. His knees nearly gave when he touched his over sensitized member and he gasped, jerking, and wished it was Dean that was touching him. He used the come to lube his hand and began to jack himself off quickly. It took little to bring him to ejaculation and he spilled his seed into the commode trying to bite back his loud groan, Dean the only image in his mind.

As soon as he’d finished, he went to the sink and tried the faucet. Bobby or Jimmust have gotten the water turned on somehow. He didn’t care, he was just glad he could rinse his hands off and use his cold hands to quicken the relaxation of his cock. It wasn’t perfect, he still felt over sensitized, but at least he could be seen by the older hunters without an obvious hard on. Leaving the bathroom, he couldn’t bring himself to look over at Dean, hating that he’d been forced to leave Dean in the same painful state that he’d been in, hating that the comfort they were finding in each other’s touch was ripped from them. He denied the little voice in his mind that insisted he was a fucked up pervert for not only desiring the killer they had in chains, but that it was his brother. His dear Jessica hadn’t died but a few days ago and when he jacked off, she hadn’t even crossed his mind.

* * *

No one had ever touched him like this. Kissed him like this. Made him feel this way. The warmth of Sam’s flesh beneath his hands. The taste of the younger man in his mouth. The sounds of pleasure he pulled from the other man’s lips... It was nothing short of pure ecstasy and he never wanted it to end.

Unfortunately reality was a god damned bitch.

The illusion they had allowed themselves to become lost in effectively shattered with the intrusion of the other hunter’s voice from upstairs. Sam’s body going ridged in his arms, his own muscles tensing involuntarily as well, in that moment they both remembered who they were. What they were to each other. And in that moment Dean didn’t think he’d ever hated the rest of the world so much.

He didn’t resist as the younger man rolled them over and pushed away from him. The regret he could read in the younger man’s eyes was too much for him to deal with right now and Dean looked away. At least ignoring the needs of his own body was easy. He’d had plenty of practice. The clinking of the chains around his wrists when he was forced to release Sam yet another reminder of just how foolish he’d been just now.

Allowing himself to become so swept away. Allowing himself to become so... weak... He could blame it on the fever, or the pain of his wounds, or even the physical and mental exhaustion from the torture the other hunter’s had put him through, but none of it was any excuse. Not really. He’d been trained to endure far worse pain for far longer without breaking.

Sam had broken him with a kiss...

The worst of it was, he wanted more. His body still thrummed with the pleasure Sam had stirred inside of him. He still ached to feel the younger man’s body pressed against him. He still yearned for his kisses. His touches. The unspoken promises and reassurances... All an illusion. Only a dream. A stupid pathetic dream that would only bring unimaginable pain to both of them. Simply because they were flesh and blood to each other now did not change the world they lived in. Who they were. What they were. What they could never have. Being so close now only made the pain and longing worse.

It also only made the choices they would have to make in the near future harder. Choice? Who was he kidding. Neither of them had a choice. Sooner or later Sam would have to kill him, because Dean had never disobeyed a command his father had given him and he never would. The other hunter’s, John Winchester, would die, and sooner or later Dean would have to bring the younger man to his father... though killing him would probably be a more merciful fate. There was no other outcome. One of them was going to die before this was all over. Which one of them... That was their only real choice.

* * *

Sam got to the top of the stairs and saw the older hunters talking between themselves a half-dozen steps down the hallway. What if…what if they’d seen him and Dean kissing and touching? They’d rip him a new one right after telling him he wasn’t going back down in that basement. Fleeting thoughts of picking the locks on Dean’s shackles and the two of them escaping into the night teased his mind.

What the fuck? was all he could think. What about the man was driving him absolutely crazy with lust? He’d never laid with a man before, he had never looked at a man in that way, never had the desire to fuck any man’s brains out until they both lay panting and completely spent. But he did with Dean. Completely and fully was ready to place his full trust in the older man. He knew he’d protect Dean with his dying breath, even if that dying breath was being strangled out of him by the very same man.  
  
Both of the hunters looked up at his approach. Sam suddenly felt gangly and young and embarrassed and all too certain he appeared flushed. He felt as if his inner perverted thoughts lay out in the open, fully exposed to the two men.

Jim eyed him with concern. “Are you okay, Sam?” Jim asked.

Sam gave a curt nod. “Yeah. Fine” he mumbled. He wasn’t fine. He knew he wasn’t when all he could taste was Dean’s sweet taste still in his mouth and all he wanted was more. It was sheer torture.

Squelching his thought with some small measure of success, he focused his attention on Bobby who held out a thermos to him. Accepting it, Sam opened it and sniffed its aroma, promptly making a face. It smelled like coffee that had sat on a stove for three days. “Damn Bobby, that smells like shit.”

Bobby shrugged. “Best I can do on short notice. It’ll get the job done and that’s what you care about, right?” Bobby voice held pure annoyance.

Sam nodded. “Can we put some sugar in it or something?”

“No,” Bobby said emphatically resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The demon-spawn was just fucking lucky Sam held enough sway with Bobby that he was even willing to brew the tea, using herbal components that he considered better spent on making more of the liquid that obviously had severe and painful effects on that monster down below and others like him. “Sugar will weaken it. He eaten anything?”

“He was too nauseous.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Bobby grunted. “It’ll work faster and better. He finish the first batch?”

“A lot of it,” Sam said, not telling them the contents of the previous thermos was currently pooled around the broken plastic thermos launched at the wall. “I need some aspirin and cool cloths for him,” Sam said.

“I’ve got those ready,” Jim said and picked up a bucket and headed for the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice. No, he wanted to be left alone with the man. “I’ve got him.”

Jim glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not letting you put ice and cold packs on him without someone there watching your back. Bobby needs to get some sleep, so that someone would be me.”

Sam sighed to himself. It wasn’t like he could risk picking up where they’d left off what with both of the hunters upstairs. They could show up at any minute. Sam followed Jim down the stairs, closing the door behind him. They had been careful to place Dean’s virtual prison in a place clearly visible from the top of the stairs. It made sense at the time, but now he regretted that choice, as sensible as it was.

Jim’s eyes scanned the remains of the breakfast Sam had hardly touched and noted that the other Styrofoam containers were still closed. He glared at their prisoner who glared back with equal hate. Jim set the bucket filled with half water and half ice down near the food. When Sam stopped at his side, he handed Sam the bottle of aspirin wordlessly.

Taking the bottle, the first thing Sam did was pop four aspirin into his mouth and dry swallowed them before putting the bottle in his pocket. His hellhound injuries were beginning to ache, in part surely from the passion play between Sam and his…brother. This was so fucked up. So seriously fucked up. Especially when just looking at Dean made his cock twitch and the nipple Dean had fingered ached for Dean’s touch again.

Jim moved the chair closer, sat down in it, and pulled out a 9-mm which he pointed at their prisoner. “Do what you have to Sam, but stay out of the way of the gun, got it? He makes one wrong move and I _will_ shoot him.

Sam’s gaze drifted between Dean and Jim. Hesitantly he approached Dean, picking up the bucket to take along. He could still see the remnants of Dean’s arousal when he closed the distance to Dean. Dean had re-positioned himself so the wall supported his back. His wounded leg was stretched out and the knee of the other leg was bent, but the short chain between his ankles prevented Dean from bending it as much as he would have preferred. Dean watched Sam warily, his gaze flicking to Jim momentarily then coming back to Sam.

Sam knelt by Dean, his eyes downcast to begin with, then his gaze swept up, pausing on Dean’s lips. He ground his teeth. Dammit, why did Jim have to be here? After a moment, he scolded himself that while he wanted to selfishly sweep Dean into his arms, Dean was burning up with fever, filled full of poison that might kill him. The adrenaline from their making out surely hadn’t helped matters.

“Hold out your hand,” Sam ordered, setting the thermos aside and pulling the aspirin bottle from his pocket. He could tell Dean considered ignoring the demand, but after looking over at Jim again, did as he was told. Sam dumped three aspirin into hand and placed them in Dean’s palm. “It’s just aspirin. It’ll help with the fever. Take them.”

* * *

Dean turned his head when he heard two sets of footsteps descending the stairs instead of one. Frowning when the other hunter appeared followed closely by Sam, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder who’s idea this was. If Sam had told them what had happened. If it was the other hunters who didn’t trust him to be alone with the younger man, or if it was Sam himself who was afraid that Dean might molest him again or something if they were alone.

No. He didn’t think so. If Sam had told them anything Dean knew the younger man wouldn’t be here now, and the hunter who was leveling a gun wouldn’t be threatening him with it, he would be using it. Why did it surprise him that Sam hadn’t told his friends what had happened, almost happened, between them a few minutes ago? Sam had been protecting him since the moment he’d stood in front of this very same hunter who’d threatened to shoot him before. But somehow Dean knew this went far beyond simple protection.

As far as Sam knew all that had passed between them was nothing more than a trick. For all the younger man knew Dean was using him, and even if it hadn’t been, Sam did not know for sure. Could not know, yet he was… Sam wasn’t only protecting him, he was trusting him. Dean didn’t understand why. Couldn’t understand.

He looked back and forth between Sam and the other hunter, lingering on the older man distrustfully however he didn’t move when Sam approached him. It wasn’t the threat of the gun that kept him still or even his own exhaustion and weakness. It was the look in the younger man’s eyes. The way his eyes swept over his body. The concern, and more, on Sam’s face when their eyes met.

Dean hesitated only a moment when the younger man asked him to hold out his hand, looking at the pills Sam placed there, to the hunter, and then back to Sam. He’d seen the other hunter give Sam the bottle, and that alone made him almost refuse to take them. But he’d already seen the younger man take the pills himself and anything that might harm him would also harm Sam. Of course the other men could not know this. That the same blood ran through both their veins, and he didn’t mean in regards to Sam’s belief they were truly brothers.

He put the pills in his mouth and swallowed them dry, just as Sam had, never looking away from the younger man’s eyes.

* * *

Dean’s gaze stayed locked on Sam. Sam tried to read what those eyes were saying to him. They’d spent years with looks and touches their only form of communication. Why was he having trouble reading Dean now? Sam tilted his head in question, then realized Dean was confused about something. Sam gave a small huff of amusement. He was just as confused though he wasn’t sure what had Dean confused. The possibilities were numerous.

Sam held out the thermos next. “It smells god-awful, but Bobby promised it would work to get that crap out of you.” As if in proof of its harmlessness, Sam took a swig first. It took all his willpower not to immediately spit it back out. Forcing himself, he swallowed it instead. “Okay, it tastes like ass,” Sam amended as he held the thermos back out. He saw the laughter in the man’s eyes and glared at him, but there was laughter of his own in his gaze.

Pulling the bucket of water and ice closer, Sam reached in for the cool rag. He squeezed out most of the water while Dean sipped at the hot concoction in the thermos. He didn’t grimace at its taste, which surprised Sam, but he suspected Dean was probably being stubborn and refusing to give Sam a chance to laugh at him.

Sam leaned in with the cold cloth but Dean pulled back from him. “We need to get your fever down. This will help get it down that much faster,” Sam assured him.

Dean glanced back at the older hunter with the gun once again, his jaw clenching for a moment, but relented and let Sam tend him. Sam all but felt electricity run through him whenever he touched Dean and had to bite his lip to stop himself from doing anything foolish. He patted the cool cloth over Dean’s face, feeling the heat of the feverish skin. He dropped the cloth back into the bucket and began unbuttoning Dean’s shirt, his hands almost trembling. He opened the flannel and drank in Dean’s scarred chest, glad he had his back to Jim so Jim couldn’t see his face. Sam wanted to run his hands over that chest and kiss away any hint of phantom pain those scars might have left. Sam shifted uncomfortably as he felt his arousal try to return, forcing away the image of him running his tongue along that chest, of sucking on those fine perky nipples, and licking away any sweet sweat yet clinging to the man.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, Sam scolded himself as he squeezed out the water and gently wiped the cool rag over Dean’s chest. Passing the cold wet cloth over Dean’s nipple made them harden and Sam ground his teeth, the sight nearly driving him mad.

* * *

  


Despite all the contrary evidence that the two other hunters weren’t going to try to kill him again, at least not while Sam was around, Dean couldn’t help the flicker of concern that flashed inside of him as he watched the younger man drink some of the tea that was meant for him. Worried in spite of himself because even Sam could not possibly understand how the poison that had been used on him might affect him.

But when the younger man didn’t have the violent reaction that Dean had before to the injection he relaxed again. Even though he had to fight the smirk of amusement that tried pulling at his lips at the look of disgust on the younger man’s face, and his words, after taking a drink.

The glare that Sam gave him in return did not phase him at all however, and he took the thermos from the younger man and started to drink from it without complaint. Even though Sam’s description of the concoction was entirely accurate. Surprisingly had worse, some of the rotten maggot ridden slop he’d been given to eat during his punishments had almost been worse than the punishments themselves. So he’d learned quickly not to be very picky with his food and drink.

Unsure what Sam was doing when he rung out a wet cloth and moved towards him Dean reflexively pulled back. Eyeing the younger man with not quite distrust. It seemed almost impossible to muster up that emotion right now, given what had passed between them, what he now knew about Sam. Or maybe he was just feeling more sick than he thought. He was almost too exhausted to care right now.

So he let the younger man wipe down his face, the cool water feeling surprisingly good against his feverish skin. Dean pretty much ignored the other hunter from then on. His eyes solely focused on Sam. Watching the emotions flickering across the younger man’s face. The intensity in Sam’s eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt making his skin flush for a different reason.

He held his breath as the younger man rubbed the cool cloth over his chest, his muscles flexing underneath Sam’s hand. Dean licked his lips unconsciously, his mouth feeling dry, and hating the fact that he could only taste the bitter tea in his mouth anymore when all he wanted to taste was Sam.

* * *

Sam watched Dean’s muscles ripple under the cool cloth and bit his lip hard, forcing himself to keep his mind on his task. He had to get Dean’s fever broken. So why was he wiping slowly along Dean’s neck, meeting Dean’s gaze, and running the cloth back down Dean’s chest again, almost lovingly and with promise. He kept up his slow ministration, practically making love to Dean with the cloth, but keeping it discrete enough he prayed Jim didn’t notice. Of course, his growing arousal was going to be difficult to hide. Pretty soon he was going to have to dump some cold water on himself. Even so, he patiently rubbed down the feverish skin of the man before him again and again.

He ran the cold cloth under the back of Dean’s shirt, taken the opportunity to let his fingers brush Dean’s skin along with the cloth. He inhaled deeply. Dammit, this was not fair to Dean. Teasing him this way. Never mind it was sheer torture for him as well. He forced himself to return to wiping down Dean’s face. That was safer, even if it meant staring into those soulful eyes and those appealing, bitable, kissable lips. When Dean licked his lips, that little pink nub slipping out, Sam almost shook with the tension of forcing himself not to say fuck it, ignore Jim, and ravage Dean then and there.

Sam ran the cloth over his own face at that point, trying desperately to cool his out of control desires. This was insane, just fucking insane. He hadn’t felt like this since he and Jessica had first started dating, when they simply couldn’t get enough of each other. They constantly had to be touching and kissing, and the places they made love practically caused Sam to blush just thinking about it. And this was exactly how he was feeling about this man.

He told himself this could be nothing but a trick by Dean, a trick to get Sam to trust him. He’d tried to kill him. Maybe Jim and Bobby were right not to trust Sam alone with Dean. It was obvious Sam was seriously screwed up. It was the entire upheaval of his life, Sam assured himself. Just that and nothing more. He denied the dreams he’d had when he was younger of making love to the dream boy, the now flesh and blood man lying in front of him, his shirt open and glistening with a sheen of water…

Sam wanted to scream in frustration. He couldn’t keep his mind off of making love to the man even when he tried to remind himself of every reason that it was wrong, that he shouldn’t feel this way. He had to force himself to keep his hormones in check. When Dean’s fever was broken, then he could let himself fantasize about what he wanted to do to Dean and what he wanted Dean to do to him. First and foremost, he had to make sure Dean wasn’t going to die from the poison in his system. His eyes slid back to Dean’s neck and he realized the nasty welt there from the injection had begun to go down and it wasn’t the angry red weal it had been an hour ago. He felt a small sigh of relief escape him. It seemed to be working.

“Are you feeling better?” Sam asked Dean softly.

* * *

Dean kept his breathing shallow and even, as much as he was able to anyway, given the situation. At least if his breath was slightly elevated and his face flushed it could be explained away by sickness and fever rather than the heightening arousal every swipe of the cool cloth across his skin built inside of him.

The gun being trained on him should have done wonders to quell that arousal, but it didn’t. Dean couldn’t help but wonder briefly if this wasn’t some new kind of elaborate torture. But if it was it was torture for them both. He could see it in Sam’s eyes. He could feel it the way the younger man’s hands sometimes trembled over his skin even through the cloth separating them.

Dean’s eyes slid closed, an involuntary shiver rippling through his body when Sam slid his fingers down his back. It was all he could do to keep from arching into the contact. To resist shifting his hips, seeking some kind of stimulation to relieve the pressure building in his groin. His cock hard and heavy by now, trapped uncomfortably in his tight jeans, aching. Making him glad for the blanket covering most of his lap or they would have probably been in some serious trouble by now.

His eyes slid open again when the cloth returned to wiping his face tenderly, Dean watching the younger man intently through hooded eyelashes. Maybe not torture, maybe just a game. A dangerous one. Making up the rules as they went along. Dean had always rather enjoyed dangerous games, and he had a feeling this might be one game he might not mind losing. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t play to win.

When the younger man asked him if he were feeling better, Dean nodded slightly. A little surprised by the fact that he actually was. He didn’t feel as sick to his stomach as before at least, and the burning feeling inside of him had lessened considerably. Whether that was because of the disgusting medicine he was drinking or Sam’s efforts, or even both, he wasn’t sure. Dean’s gaze shifted back to the older hunter, the gun still leveled steadily at his head, and Dean snorted.

“Enjoying the show?” He asked the older man sarcastically, well aware of how he looked right now even if the other man couldn’t see how hard he actually was.

* * *

Sam strangled back a gasp at Dean’s question to Pastor Jim. His eyes grew comically wide as he stared at Dean, feeling his cheeks get hot with embarrassment. Didn’t Dean realize if Jim recognized it, he’d probably try to keep Sam and him apart? Even if they couldn’t touch each other, Sam still wanted to be near him, to make sure he was okay if nothing else.

Sam heard Jim give a small snort. “If it was my choice in the matter, I’d rather see you writhing in agony.” Jim said, revulsion plain in his voice. He was disgusted by the fact that Sam’s concerned efforts seemed to be eliciting pleasure for the man. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man was fully aroused beneath that blanket. He hoped it was causing him pain if that were the case.

“Jim, he’s doing better but he’s out of tea and I need some more ice,” Sam said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Why don’t you go take a break and stretch your legs? I’ll watch him. And could you maybe get me thermos of coffee while you’re at it?” Sam didn’t dare let Jim see his reddened face.

“Move away from him first, Samuel,” Jim said patiently.

Sam pushed himself back, taking the thermos and the bucket and putting it safely out of Dean’s reach. He turned but kept his back to Jim and headed for the bathroom. “Go on Jim. I need that coffee and he needs more tea.” Sam paused. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. I promise.”

Giving a final glare at Dean, Jim stood up, more than grateful to let his arm that had been holding the gun rest for a few minutes. It wasn’t as if he could switch off with his other hand considering that arm was in a sling, courtesy of man in chains before him. He slid the gun into its holster and after dropping the thermos into the bucket, carried the bucket toward the stairs. Maybe he’d send Bobby back down. After what happened previously, Jim doubted he’d get Sam to leave ‘Dean’ for awhile, and someone needed to go check on John. Sam had promised John they’d trade out staying with him and it had already been a good three or four hours. Jim didn’t want John waking up alone. Maybe Bobby could convince Sam to go out and get some lunch after the man’s fever had dropped some more. “All right Samuel.”

“Thanks,” Sam said as he pushed the door open to the bathroom and once it closed, leaned against it until he heard Jim reach the top of the stairs. He cracked open the door and, confirming Jim was gone, he strode over to Dean and knelt by him. Even with the blanket over his groin, he could tell Dean was more than a little aroused. His own arousal had lessened, probably more out of fear of Jim noticing than anything else, but he knew it was still visible if someone was looking for it.

“I’m sorry about the …we’ve got a few minutes. If you want to, you know, ‘relieve’ yourself in the bucket before he comes back down,” Sam practically blushed. He was a grown man and he couldn’t simply tell the guy to jerk off. Well, he never had been one to be overtly crude. “I can go dump it afterward.”

* * *

Dean smirked in amusement. Not so much from the older hunter’s reply but the expression on Sam’s face. The younger man looked like his eyes were about ready to fall out of his head and his face was as red as a tomato with embarrassment. It was rather… cute.

“Kinky. Not surprised you’d get off on that.” Dean replied, never taking his eyes off the older man, and probably would have said more, if Sam didn’t quickly cover up his little outburst, suggesting ‘Jim’ take a break. Asking for more ice, coffee, and promising not to do anything stupid. Dean almost snorted at that last bit as he watched the older man head up the stairs with the bucket to do as Sam asked.

The other hunter wasn’t gone two seconds before the younger man came out of hiding in the bathroom and knelt next to him again, even closer than Sam had been when Jim had been there holding a gun on him. So trusting. Dean lifted an eyebrow when Sam first apologized and then suggested he ‘relieve’ himself before the older hunter came back.

He chuckled softly as he slowly pushed himself up from his reclining position, the blanket sliding off of him as he moved. Never taking his eyes off Sam’s as he knelt in front of the younger man so close there was barely an inch of space between them. The chains slack enough he could have closed that distance if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Leaving that choice up to Sam.

“You want to watch then?” Dean asked softly, tilting his head to the side, watching the younger man’s eyes closely as his fingers moved to the button on his jeans. Undoing it easily with a flick of his wrist. His arousal straining against the back of his zipper as he slowly eased it down. His thumbs hooking into the waistband of his jeans, easing the tight denim down just enough to show off his hip bones.

“Or maybe you’d rather help with this too?”

* * *

Dean’s chuckle was…bothersome to Sam. It reminded him too much of the enemy who’d hurt his father. Even so, when the blanket fell from Dean’s waist, Sam couldn’t look away from the huge bulge that stretched Dean’s already enticingly tight denim tighter. Sam’s cock didn’t just twitch, it damn near jumped, and Sam’s breath hitched. Dean moved so close to Sam but not close enough to touch, all but making Sam’s skin prickle in anticipation. He could feel Dean’s breath gently caress his face, feel the heat of Dean’s body wash over him. He’d long since buttoned up his shirt and now it was Dean’s shirt that was open and exposed to him.

Did he want to watch? God! No he wasn’t some sort of pervert that wanted to watch another man jerk himself off! And certainly not his brother. And yet…he couldn’t help but watch as Dean slowly, tortuously, released himself from the binding pants. His cock was still hidden beneath his tented undershorts and Sam felt a flash of anger at that. Dean pulled open his pants enough to show his hips.

Sam all but groaned at the tease. He deserved it. He’d done this to Dean. It was only fair that Dean tease him back. Did he want to help? No! Of course not! He’d never touched another man’s cock, never had any desire to. (Again refusing to acknowledge the dreams a hormone controlled teen had that could get hot over anything.) But he wanted to see what was under those tented shorts. God he wanted to see... But he felt like Dean was playing a game with him and that made him reluctant and wary.

They probably only had ten minutes before Jim came back down. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Ten minutes. And he was wasting precious seconds. Maybe…maybe if he could get it out of his system, he’d be able to manage better, think clearer. He reached down and pushed Dean’s jeans further down his hips, hooking his undershorts in the process and pushing them down as well. He stared at Dean’s glory, at the heavy, come leaking cock that begged to be touched. Hesitant fingers took Dean’s dick, his thumb brushing across Dean’s crown. “Yes,” Sam whispered hoarsely, finally dragging his eyes away from Dean’s cock and meeting Dean’s cool green gaze. “I want to help.”

* * *

He’d made Sam nervous. He could see it in the younger man’s eyes, and Dean was surprised how much that bothered him. He didn’t give a damn what the other hunters thought of him, but he didn’t want Sam to be afraid of him. He knew he shouldn’t care what Sam thought of him either, but he did. The younger boy had been the only one who had ever looked at him, ever touched him, with even the slightest kindness and now that he knew he couldn’t separate that knowledge from the man, his enemy, kneeling in front of him.

Dean could tell himself the reason why he cared was because if Sam was wary of him he couldn’t use the younger man’s trust against him later, but he’d only be lying to himself. Nor could he admit the truth...

The smirk slipped from Dean’s face and his eyes softened considerably when he felt Sam’s hands settle on his hips. Easing his jeans down along with his underwear, exposing him completely to the chilly basement air, causing an unexpected chill to run up his spine. Though that chill was chased away easily by the heat in the younger man’s eyes as Sam stared at him. Making his skin flush, and definitely not from fever this time.

Dean wasn’t a stranger to others looking at him with desire. He was well aware how appealing his body could be to others and had used it to his advantage in the past to get what he wanted. Sex. It was just another tool, nothing more. But when Sam hesitantly wrapped his fingers around his length, the same touch that had always comforted now giving pleasure, the feelings it stirred within him were like nothing Dean had ever felt before.

Dean licked his lips and nodded. Shrugging the flannel shirt he was wearing off his shoulders, letting it pool behind him, as he leaned in even closer to the younger man. One hand reaching out to grasp Sam’s hip, steadying them both, while the other wrapped around the fingers holding him. Tightening Sam’s grip around him, encouraging the younger man’s hand to move down and back up the length of his cock. His hips thrusting forward a little even at the slight friction, a moan slipping from his lips involuntarily.

“Sam...”

* * *

Sam felt awkward and inexperienced and …hell, like a freaking virgin or something. Sure, he’d jacked off plenty of times—what boy hadn’t? But he’d never given anyone a hand job and while he knew what set him off, how much pressure to use, where all the sensitive spots were, and how fast a pace to set, this was someone else and the only feedback he could get would be from the expression on the other’s face. He wanted to do this right, he wanted to make up for putting Dean in this condition and leaving him in it, only to put him right back in it again. He didn’t want Dean to think he was just doing it to torture the man.

He didn’t really want Dean to know just how much Dean was affecting him and in ways he’d never have dreamed of. Eventually the piper would have to be paid, Sam knew that, though like everything else at the moment, he walled that knowledge off. In the past few days he had truly discovered just how fleeting everything was and even if only for a brief time he could have this, he’d take what he could and damn the consequences. He never had the chance to ask Jessica to marry him, never had the chance to tell Mike how important his friendship had been all these years. This man had become suddenly become more important to him than most anything or anyone and while he wouldn’t tell the man that, he would show him.

Dean’s hand steadying him helped ground him. When Dean wrapped his hand around Sam’s and encouraged him to stroke Dean’s cock, when his hips thrust forward and he moaned Sam’s name, the floodgates seemed to open for Sam. His confidence grew and he let his palm slip over Dean crown to gather more precome, to help lube his hand. A small thrill coursed through him every time Dean thrust into his hand, knowing he had full control of Dean’s pleasure and knowing that he wanted more than anything to make it the most pleasurable experience he could in the brief time they had.

Focusing everything on the man before him, he ignored his own growing arousal. When Dean moaned his name again, Sam covered Dean’s mouth with his own, wanting to swallow those moans and make them a part of him. He also knew, and smiled a little to himself at the thought, that they couldn’t have a mess to explain so when the time grew closer he’d finish Dean’s pleasure with something he never thought he’d do. He’d go down on him. There really wasn’t any choice he told himself, but the thought of wrapping his lips around Dean’s rock hard leaking member sent a thrill through him like he’d never experienced and he kissed Dean more intensely, his other hand finding its way to Dean’s nipple.

* * *

It was just a hand job, nothing fancy, yet Dean couldn’t believe how good it felt. Even though it was obvious that the other man had never done this for another man before, Sam’s hand wrapped around him was warm and felt perfect moving over his sensitive flesh. Maybe it was that inexperience, a certain innocence, which turned him on the most. Knowing he was the first as he guided the younger man, showing Sam exactly how he liked to be touched, how tightly to hold him, how fast or slow to move as he thrust into the other man’s grip. Sam’s fingers were not unsure for long, and soon enough the younger man didn’t need Dean’s guidance.

Dean opened his mouth and moaned into the younger man’s mouth when Sam sealed their lips together. Dean thrust his tongue greedily into Sam’s mouth, taking everything the younger man offered. Releasing Sam’s hand to wind his fingers in the soft hair at the back of the other man’s neck. Drawing Sam closer and guiding the kiss.

Fuck, he felt so damn good, tasted so good, Dean felt he could drown inside the younger man and he wouldn’t give a damn.

His hand on Sam’s hip shifted to the younger man’s ass, squeezing as he groaned again in pleasure at the fingers toying with his already hard nipples. Rubbing Sam through his jeans, and when that wasn’t enough slipping his boldly underneath the waistband of his jeans. Gently massaging the strong muscled curves covered in downy soft flesh beneath his hand.

Thrusting faster into Sam’s hand, Dean’s muscles tensed as he felt his release quickly building.

* * *

Dean’s tongue was insistent, demanding, and Sam loved every moment of it as their tongues chased and wrapped around each other. He could taste the bitter tea once again but its flavor quickly faded and all he could taste was Dean. How could a man taste so heavenly and so perfect?

When Dean’s hand went to the back of his neck, the heavy chain dragged across his shoulder. Remembering that Dean was still in chains turned him on while his mind tried to wave red flags of why Dean was in those chains, that this was wrong, that this was dangerous, and Sam ignored them as stubbornly as he’d ignored his father. The fingers winding and twisting and combing his hair made him shiver and groan.  
  
When Dean’s hand moved to his ass, he caressed, kneaded, and squeezed Sam with a strength that made it that much better. When Dean’s hand slid under his jeans, he groaned louder into Dean’s mouth. It was getting harder and harder to ignore his own arousal.

He felt Den’s pace increasing as he stroked him, felt the tension growing in Dean and knew if he was going to do this, he better do it soon. He guided Dean down to the mattress, mindful of his injuries. He broke their kiss and could tell Dean didn’t want it to stop. He didn’t either but he knew he didn’t have long. His eyes glinted with mischief as he met Dean’s, then he leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Don’t let them hear you.”

He grinned at Dean, using his hand to work him just a little harder, then slid down to Dean’s thick and ready cock. Jessica loved giving blow jobs and he knew exactly what he liked and hoped Dean liked it as well. He knew Jim would be returning any minute so he couldn’t tease Dean the way he wanted to. He tongued Dean’s slit for a few seconds. While Dean had tasted good when he was kissing him, he was not ready for the flavor that assaulted his senses as his tongue licked at the fluid seeping from Dean hungrily. Moaning his delight, his hot breath whispered over Dean’s sensitive flesh. His hands went to Dean’s hips, remembering all too well how Jessica had held him to keep him paced. He slid his wet mouth down over Dean’s member eagerly. He tried to be confident as he sucked and worked Dean. He knew he wasn’t doing as good as he could, but Dean didn’t seem to mind, though he figured it was pretty obvious it was his first. He fingered Dean’s balls as he worked him harder and harder. He felt Dean’s sudden tensing and readied himself to swallow as he brought Dean to release.

* * *

Dean was momentarily taken off guard when Sam pushed him backwards, easing him gently down to the mattress, but he didn’t resist. Even though it forced him to release the younger man, forced him to break their kiss, and Dean hadn’t wanted to do either. He looked up at the younger man questioningly but Sam’s hand still wrapped tightly around his throbbing member, stroking him steadily, kept him from complaining about the change.

He panted softly where he laid, practically naked, underneath the younger man. Lifting his hips with every movement of the other man’s hand, he couldn’t stop from thrusting between Sam’s slick fingers, eagerly seeking his release. Raising an eyebrow however at the look of mischief in the younger man’s eyes, but even that look, Sam’s words, in no way prepared him for when he slid down his body and he felt the first brush of the younger man’s tongue along the head of his shaft.

Dean hissed sharply through his teeth before he bit his lip sharply to keep any other sound from escaping. His hands once more finding their way into the younger man’s hair, combing and caressing the soft strands through his fingers. Simply unable to look away from the sight of Sam bent over his lap, licking him like he was some kind of delicious treat, then wrapping his perfect lips around his cock. Barely able to hold back from bucking up and forcing himself deeper into the younger man’s hot wet mouth. Letting Sam set the pace.

What Sam lacked in skill the younger man more than made up for with enthusiasm and god what Dean wouldn’t have given for this to last longer. To really let himself savor the feel of that sweet mouth sliding up and down the length of his cock. Teaching Sam how to take him even deeper, into his throat. But even if he didn’t care about the older hunter getting an eyeful when he returned, he was already far too close to release to made it last.

Watching himself sliding wetly in and out of that beautiful mouth while Sam caressed his balls, sucking on him faster and harder, realizing that the younger man fully intended to suck him all the way through his climax is what finally triggered it. He couldn’t stop himself from bucking sharply underneath Sam then, his back arching, his fingers twisting in the younger man’s hair almost painfully as he threw his head back and shot down Sam’s throat more powerfully than he was expecting. Barely managing to fight back the shout of pleasure that wanted to break free as a long low groan instead as his body shuddered beneath the younger man.

* * *

Dean’s sudden thrust into his mouth made him swallow instinctively, taking Dean in deeper than he would have thought he could have. He felt the hot spunk hit the back of his throat as Dean’s fingers wrapped and pulled at Sam’s hair, heightening Sam’s arousal even more. His own come-heavy cock trapped between denim and thigh answered with a hard release, shaking him to his core. If his mouth wasn’t so full of Dean he would have failed at what Dean had managed and shouted out. Suddenly greedy for everything Dean gave, he worked Dean’s member, milking what more he could as his own cock mirrored Dean’s, jerking and throbbing so hard he couldn’t tell where Dean’s shudder ended and his began, moaning again and again around Dean’s thick member.

He felt the tension drain from Dean and his own cock finally settled. Reluctantly he released Dean from his mouth, panting and covered with sweat. He ran his tongue up Dean’s sweat-covered body and then kissed him deeply, letting Dean taste the mixture of Sam and his own semen. He moaned into Dean’s mouth, wanting to lay in Dean’s arms and hide from the world, finding the comfort he always had in Dean’s presence. His kiss shifted from hot passion to gentle slow kissing as his hands ran tenderly along Dean’s body. He resisted the urge to reach down and massage Dean’s cock, to tempt it to harden again, and resisted the urge the rub Dean’s nipples. Instead he brought his hand up to Dean’s shortly cropped hair and ran his fingers through Dean’s sweat-soaked locks.

In his after-sex haze, he heard a distant pounding and Bobby’s voice calling his name, making him groan in frustration and he forced himself to pull away from Dean. He saw the mark on Dean’s lower lip, blood just barely seeping from it. Dean had bit his lip to keep from calling out, to keep quiet as he had asked. He ran his thumb lightly over the injury, his heart warming even more at the sight and giving Dean a thankful smile. Pushing himself to his feet, grimacing at the cooling wet spot that travelled from groin to knee as his own come soaked his pants, he straightened. His head clearing, he heard Bobby pounding on the door that he could have sworn Jim left open. Bobby’s voice was growing more concerned and demanding Sam answer him.

“Hang on a minute Bobby, I’m coming!” Sam shouted up at him, feeling silly laughter try to escape. Oh, he’d come all right. His desire to laugh was quelled with the follow-up thought of how the fuck was he going to explain that? He saw the coffee cup sitting near the untouched Styrofoam containers and walked over to it, regretfully washing Dean from his mouth as he drank down a couple gulps of cold bitter coffee, then poured the remaining liquid partway down his shirt, onto his groin, and down the one side of his jeans. He hissed as the cold liquid withered any final signs of his recent activity. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and using his fingers combed his mussed hair down as best he could. He was sure he was flushed and probably smelled of sex, but there wasn’t much he could do about that.

He glanced over at Dean and made sure Dean was covered up then headed to the stairs. The door at the top suddenly burst open and Bobby’s angry and worried gaze fell on a surprised Sam.

“How the hell’d this door get locked?” Bobby demanded.

Sam shrugged, his brow furrowing. “Isn’t the lock on your side, Bobby? Must have just gotten stuck or something,” he said, grateful for the bit of luck or Bobby would have walked in on them in a more than compromising position.

“What happened to you?” Bobby asked gruffly as he came down the stairs, seeing the wet stain on Sam’s shirt and pants.

“You. You scared the hell out of me when you started pounding on the door and I spilled my coffee all over myself. Thanks for that. At least it was cold. I’m going to clean up,” Sam said, trying to casually keep his distance from Bobby as he headed to the bathroom that he was getting all too familiar with.

* * *

Dean’s chest heaved, gasping, fighting to get enough air in his lungs. Though it was a wasted effort when it felt like all the air was knocked out of him at the feeling of Sam trying his best to suck his brains out through his cock, and fuck, but he’d never felt anything so good in his whole life.

As he lay there, his muscles trembling from the aftershocks of intense pleasure coursing through him, Dean swore he’d never seen a more amazing sight when he lifted his head to watch the younger man as Sam savored every drop of his release. Every gentle press of Sam’s soft tongue, feeling the younger man’s moans vibrating through his cock, pulling another shudder from him.

Sam sucked him until he began to grow soft, the younger man’s lips and tongue now more soothing than arousing, and Dean relaxed, feeling practically boneless and utterly spent. One last shiver of pleasure rippling through his body when Sam finally released his cock, the shock of the cool air against his sensitive flesh making him groan softly in discomfort, longing for the feel of that warm wet heat surrounding him again even though he’d already come so hard. Fuck, he couldn’t believe how much Sam was affecting him.

It’s not like he was not a virgin in any sense of the word. He’d been fucked, and fucked, pretty much since he’d reached puberty. He’d been taught how to please others, and been introduced to new means of torture at the same time. His father had eagerly showed him the power lust could have over others. He’d also shown him how sex could be used as a weapon, or for bargaining, Dean had lost count how many times his father had traded him to other demons, letting them enjoy him however they wanted for certain services. Dean had learned to enjoy sex as much as he’d learned to hate it, depending on the situation.

A part of him argued that this was no different than any of those times. That he had let Sam do what he wanted, had encouraged it, merely to further gain the younger man’s favor. If Sam enjoyed him the younger man would be more willing to keep him alive. If the young hunter continued to enjoy him, maybe even grew to care about him, love him, there wouldn’t be anything Sam wouldn’t do for him. Perhaps even release him, believing Dean wouldn’t turn on him. He was only using Sam, as Sam was using him.

Dean could tell himself that it meant nothing. That it meant nothing when Sam gently licked up his body to kiss him. That it meant nothing as he moaned softly into the younger man’s mouth and arched beneath the careful hands that ran over his body, petting through his hair like he was something… treasured… Looking into Sam’s eyes as the younger man ran his thumb gently across his swollen lips, the way his heart clenched seeing Sam smile at him like that, it meant nothing. Maybe if he told it to himself often enough he’d even make himself believe it.

Dean only became aware of the pounding on the door to the stairs, the other hunter’s shouts through the thick wood, when Sam pushed away from him and stood. Calling out to the other man and Dean turned his head to look and sure enough the door that had been left open when the other hunter had left was now shut tightly and was not budging no matter how hard the hunter pounded on it from the other side. Dean’s eyes shifted back to Sam, having no doubt how it had happened. If he concentrated he could feel an echo of the power that the younger man was tapping into without even realizing it. How could he not realize what he was doing? The power he could wield so effortlessly unconsciously… what would happen once he tapped into that power knowingly? What would he be capable of? No wonder his father wanted Sam so badly…

He lifted an eyebrow as the younger man covered up the evidence of what they’d been doing, and Dean decided it was probably best if he did the same. Quickly pulling his underwear and jeans back into place and covering himself with the blanket once more, he rolled over to face the wall, putting his back to the hunters, feigning sleep. A small amused smile curving his lips in spite of himself as Sam easily lied to the other hunter to cover up what they’d been up to.

How many more lies would Sam tell? How many more ‘rules’ would he break? How many more times would he stick his hand out to a wolf pretending it was no more than a wounded puppy? When the time came Dean knew it would not be difficult at all to use that against Sam in order to free himself. Just as Dean ignored the other hunter in the basement watching him, he ignored the pang of guilt and regret that welled up in his heart at that knowledge.

* * *

Sam went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face, trying to erase the flush his time with Dean had brought on. He met his own gaze in the cracked mirror and told himself he’d done it to get Dean out of his system. But that was a lie. He had done it because he wanted Dean. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Dean simply because Dean had always soothed his pain, and right now when Sam had time to stop and think, all he felt was pain.

Pain from the loss of his best friend. He had gone after the “demon” he thought was involved in the killing of Mike, intent on gaining revenge. His best friend knew nothing of demons and the dark things that crawled through the night. He was absolutely no threat to the world of demons and evil. He was laid back and the only hunting he did was in the bar looking for a sucker to play darts or pool with him, or looking to find his next notch on his belt in the form of a blond or brunette. Dean wasn’t that demon, but Sam wouldn’t forget there was one out that that had killed his friend. Maybe, with enough time, he could gt Dean to tell him how to find that demon.

Almost unbearable pain from the loss of his girlfriend intertwined with Mike’s loss. Never again would he see Jessica’s sweet beautiful face except in the picture he had of her in his wallet. Never again would she give him shit, her eyes sparkling with amusement, or bake him his favorite cookies, or set down a hot cup of coffee beside him as he poured over his law books readying himself for the next exam. The last image he had of her would be etched in his memory forever, of burning on the ceiling, bleeding and confused. He had never told her, not of his real life growing up, not of being a hunter. He had dreamed and dreamed of her burning on the ceiling and he had done nothing, absolutely nothing, to try to protect her. How hard would it have been to put down a few lines of salt? To draw some runes? He didn’t know what he was going to do if Dean had a hand in her death. He prayed Dean didn’t. He needed Dean right now, and if he discovered Dean had been involved, Sam thought he might just crumble.

His father was in ICU and he nearly killed his father by heedlessly spilling his guts over who he thought Dean was. All the times he ignored his father’s calls, even blocked his father’s number. He had hated his father for so long and now, now he understood what had driven the man to find the beast that killed his wife. Now, when Sam had almost lost him. He had planned on offering something like an olive branch, inviting his dad to the wedding. So long as John didn’t start talking about things in the dark and that Sam should start hunting again, he was willing, reluctantly, to bring his father back into his life. He wondered if he would have picked up the phone those few nights ago if he hadn’t thought it was Mike. He hadn’t hung up on his father as he had done in the past, honoring John’s plea to listen. Why, when he went upstairs to check on Jessica, hadn’t he told her to get up then? If he had just grabbed her and ran, she might still be alive. She might be scared and confused, but she would be alive. But no, his training had kicked in and he wanted to be ready for whatever was coming after them. Even if things had gone the way he had intended, if he had sent her to her family, he knew it wouldn’t have mattered. She’d still be dead, Mike would still be dead, and probably, most of Jessica’s family along with them.

Guiltily he recalled the time he’d spent with Jessica, of making love with her and what had he done? He had used their lovemaking as tools for making love to Dean.

No, he told himself. He’d had sex with Dean. That was all. Just sex.

Then why had he wanted to make Dean groan with pleasure, why did he want to spend hours with him, exploring every inch of his body, bringing him to the edge again and again until Dean begged him to finish him. He had had sex with women and it didn’t feel anything like it felt with Dean. With Dean, it was … like with Jessica. He sank slowly to the floor, his back to the wall. How could he just cast his love for Jessica aside like that? How could he replace her gentle hands, her gentle kisses with…his brother’s? He let his head fall forward, ashamed. He felt the tears as they began to stream down his face.

He’d made love to Dean. And he wanted to again.

Sam’s head snapped up when the bathroom door opened. Bobby came in, carrying Sam’s duffel.

“Sam, thought you might…” Bobby’s voice trailed off, seeing Sam sitting on the floor, seeing the tears running down his face. He averted his eyes as Sam hastily wiped the tears away.

“Your daddy’s gonna be fine, Sam. Jim’s gone on to the hospital to sit with him for a spell,” Bobby said, setting Sam’s duffel down. “Jim got all your clothes washed up while you was with John. You look like hell, Boy. Why don’t you git? Go to the hotel room, get some real sleep, a shower, and a solid meal into you.” He held up his hands stopping Sam’s protest before Sam got out a word. “I’ll look after…Dean. We’ll leave him be, you have my word on that. Looks like he’s getting some sleep himself. When he wakes up, I’ll make sure he drinks the fresh batch of tea I made for him. I’ll make him up a couple PB&Js to eat if he gets his appetite back.”

Sam managed a grateful smile. “Thanks Bobby, but really, I’m okay, I’ll stay—“

Bobby glared at him. “You’ll get your stubborn ass to the hotel and get some real sleep.”

“I’m fine—“ Sam started again, pushing himself wearily to his feet. He wasn’t fine. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but he didn’t want to leave.

“You gonna make me get my shotgun out, Boy?” Bobby asked sternly, but a smirk pulled at his lips. Whenever John Winchester was being a stubborn ass, Bobby had always threatened to knock some sense into him with a butt full of buckshot.

“No sir,” Sam said, a small chuckle slipping out. “Okay. I’ll go. You’ll call me if you hear from Jim—the hospital’s got my number, but you know, call me anyhow? And if Dean starts getting sick again—“

“Stop being a mother hen, Sam. We’ll look after John and we’ll look after that…after Dean.”

Sam could see Bobby meant it. As much as he didn’t want to, he’d watch over Sam’s brother.

Sam grabbed his duffel from the floor. “I’ll change and go.”

With a sharp nod, Bobby turned and left. Once he had, Sam quickly changed over into fresh undershorts and jeans, cleaning himself up before sliding the fresh ones on. He glanced into the mirror a final time, so twisted up inside he didn’t know if he wanted to scream or start crying again. Instead, he swallowed back both emotions and strode out to the basement. “See you, Bobby. I’ll be back soon. Watch over him. Keep him safe.”

Bobby sighed. “I will. Now git.”

Sam’s gaze flicked to Dean, Dean’s back to them. He couldn’t be sure if Dean was asleep or just pretending. He turned and headed up the stairs, taking comfort that he would know if anything happened to Dean. He’d simply know.

He was suddenly looking forward to a shower and good couple hours of sleep stretched out in a soft bed. He smiled when he heard Bobby call up after him, “Be sure to check the salt lines!”


	3. Chapter 3

  
They'd been watching the abandoned church for two days now. Watching and waiting.    


  
They'd watched the events that unfolded at the old paper mill, following the hunters here from there. They'd watched their comings and goings. Knew there were four humans inside, three hunters and one other. The other was the one they'd been sent to watch. 

"We should go in now." His 'companion' hissed in his ear, and he frowned. She'd been repeating the same thing to him practically every hour for the past day and a half. She'd always been impatient. Accused him of being overly cautious, and perhaps he was, but it had kept him alive for this long. Besides, they'd had their orders. 

Only things had not exactly gone according to plan. For starters, they'd been betting on only one human walking out of that mill alive. Which human didn't really matter much, though for personal reasons, he'd almost been rooting on the hunters this time. They'd been sent just in case Azazel's pet human wasn't successful, to pick up the other one. The orders had left a bad taste in his mouth but of course he hadn't argued. Disobeying would be akin to suicide. No one, not human or demon, dared to cross Azazel. 

That was why he'd argued that they should report back to Azazel what had happened, how his little pet human had been captured by the hunters, rather than the other way around. Of course _she_ had argued that they should use this situation to their advantage. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. 

It was no secret the disdain he had for the _human_ that Azazel had raised and lifted up among their ranks. A mere human that Azazel planned to have lead _them_ , sometimes he thought secretly to himself if Azazel weren't more than a little mad. There were many demons that would gladly rip Dean apart slowly piece by piece, there were rumors some had even tried, and failed. 

But if mere humans had managed to capture and contain Azazel's pet then what was to stop them from going in, taking out the hunters themselves as well as Dean, and bringing Azazel's prize to him themselves? It truly was an opportunity too good to pass up. 

Now would be the perfect time, with only one of the hunters left inside, and their target leaving by himself, but he was still wary. It seemed almost too good to be true. 

"It's now or never, damn it!" She growled and he sighed and nodded. 

"Go after the boy, remember, Azazel wanted him in one piece." He said, knowing well how overzealous she could be some times.   


* * *

Sam stopped at the deli, picking up several sandwiches and sodas and putting them in an ice chest. He also loaded up on chips and nuts and candy bars at the gas station when he topped off the gas tank. With the supplies, whoever was guarding Dean wouldn’t be stuck eating PB&Js or waiting for someone to show up with food. He’d gotten enough for a good couple days.

He’d finished off his own sandwich by the time he reached the motel. He was looking forward to a shower and a few hours of sleep. He couldn’t help but wonder if Dean were asleep, if Dean might visit him as the dream-boy. Okay, ‘man.’ Dean wasn’t exactly a boy anymore. Licking his lips, he remembered how Dean tasted. Chastising himself, he steered his thought away from Dean. He needed to focus on getting his shower and getting some shut eye.

Spotting the door with his room number on it, he was pleased to see a parking spot right in front of the room. After parking the car, he went to the trunk to pull out his duffel and the typical handful of supplies a hunter took with them since Sam didn’t know what Jim and Bobby had left in the room, if they’d left anything. Pulling the duffel off of the secret compartment he tossed it on the ground and opened up the box full of weapons of various ilk.

The sudden sharp blow to the back of his head made him stagger. His vision almost doubled, he turned, instinctively throwing his arm up as the baseball bat came at him again. A woman, shortly cropped blonde hair and an evil gleam in her eye, grinned at him.

“Hi there Sammy. Why don’t you make this easy and just give up now?” she said, taking another swing at him. Sam barely managed to dodge the next blow.

“Who there hell are you?” Sam asked, keeping the trunk to his back. The weapons inside there were his only chance.

“Just call me the sheriff. I’m taking you in.” Her eyes turned momentarily black. She took another swing that contacted with his side but he rolled with it, keeping the blow from doing more than bruising him.

“In? To where? To who?” he demanded.

She laughed gleefully. “He’s going to be really pleased to see you again, Sammy. With you captured and his precious pet human dead, we’ll be well rewarded.”

Dean? Was she talking about Dean? They were going to kill Dean?

With Dean’s life threatened, he couldn’t risk stalling her and grabbed the holy water, popping the lid and spraying it on her in one smooth motion. She screamed as the water sizzled and burned her skin. Sam pulled out a shotgun and slammed it alongside her head, putting her on the ground, the baseball bat skittering out of her reach.

“Who wants me?” Sam demanded, the muzzle pointed at her.

Her smile disappeared as she began to climb to her feet. “That shotgun will make quite a racket. It’s sure to draw the police.”

“Is someone going after Dean?” Sam demanded.

“I’m sure he’s already dead, Sammy. You’re always just a little too late, aren’t you?’ she taunted. “Couldn’t save Mikey—he sure was fun to run over. Made a nice little speed bump before his insides got all squished. Couldn’t save Barbie Bar-b-que. Did she scream loud?” She finished regaining her feet. Stupid human. The shotgun wouldn’t stop her. He never should have let her get up. She could tackle him and follow it up with a good beating. That would be fun. She eased a little closer and readied herself to tackle the fool.

Sam’s fury began to rise inside him. She’d killed his friend, knew about Jessica’s death, and threatened his brother. The words came almost unbidden to his lips.

“Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio,” Sam began the exorcism.

The demon staggered back, startled.

”Contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium.  
Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur:  
tuque, Princeps militiae caelestis,  
Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos,  
qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo,  
divina virtute, in infernum detrude.”

Sam finished the exorcism triumphantly and watched the black smoke pour from the young woman’s body. Without a devil’s trap, the demon would be free to enter someone else. He wanted her sent to Hell. He wanted that more than anything in that instant.

The wind suddenly picked up and the black smoke that was the demon stopped rising. Instead it fell earthward, an unearthly keening echoing as the smoke burbled and churned and sank in to the ground. The wind suddenly died off.

Sam blinked, staring at the spot it had been. He hadn’t done that. He couldn’t have done that.

The woman’s soft moaning snapped his attention back to his surroundings. He set the shotgun in the trunk, tossed his duffel on top of the false floor and slammed the trunk shut. He went to the woman’s side. She had a bad lump on the side of her head.

“Miss, are you okay,” Sam asked, helping her to her feet.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

‘You’re safe.” He waved down someone who stuck their head out of the door because of the scream they’d heard. “She’s hurt! Call 9-1-1.” He guided her over to the concerned young man. “She must have had a seizure and hit her head,” Sam said, handing her off to him. As soon as the young man helped the woman inside, Sam was pulling out his phone as he got into the Impala, forcing himself to not pull out of the lot burning rubber and raising attention. He speed dialed Bobby and listened to it ringing. As soon as he was out of the parking lot, he slammed his foot on the gas. Bobby wasn’t answering. The church wasn’t far away and he prayed he wasn’t too late.

* * *

After Sam had left Bobby had gone back upstairs to his makeshift worktable to do some more tests on the effects the spell components had on Dean’s blood, trying to figure out the how’s and why’s of it. Just because he’d promised Sam he’d leave that thing downstairs be didn’t mean he was going to give up on a possible new weapon against demons… or whatever the hell ‘Dean’ was.

The older hunter hadn’t sat down for five minutes when a sound from the main room of the church drew his attention and he was getting up again. Figuring Sam had just forgotten something, Bobby didn’t even grab the shotgun full of rock salt that had been sitting next to him on the table. That was his first mistake and he didn’t get to make another as an invisible force slammed into him with the force of a freight train, knocking him back and almost through a wall, the hunter slumping to the floor unconscious.

***

Dean sat up abruptly, his muscles tense when he heard the loud crash upstairs. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and even though he didn’t have use of his powers he could feel the darkness emanating from above, faint, but he could feel it, drawing closer.

He was on his feet in a second, his eyes darting around his prison, but of course there was nothing within reach he could use as a weapon. He had no illusions that any of his ‘brethren’ might come to his ‘rescue’. If they came at all they would only be coming for one reason and at the moment Dean was literally a sitting duck.

Dean’s hands clenched at his sides as the heavy booted footsteps leisurely descended the basement stairs. Of course Dean did not recognize the human’s face, but he recognized the demon’s, and the young man all but growled. “Dumah.”

The demon general under his father’s command grinned at him as he lifted his hand and with a flick of his wrist Dean was thrown back into the wall behind him with bone jarring force, enough to daze him, and he felt blood dripping down the back of his neck as he was pinned there, helpless, as the demon approached him. Anything the young man might have said literally crushed out of him as the pressure against his body continued to increase. Forcing the air out of his lungs, his already damaged ribs protesting in agony as the bones shifted, threatening to snap and impale him.

“Dean… I warned you one day it would come to this. I told you no human would ever be allowed to rise among the ranks of demons.” The demon sneered, backhanding him hard enough that Dean tasted blood and Dumah merely shook his head in disgust. “Humans are cattle just waiting to be slaughtered, and look at you now. Pathetic. Just like them. If Azazel could only see his little pet now…”

The demon swiped his thumb at the corner of Dean’s mouth, gathering a bit of blood and bringing it to his lips. Licking it away with a grin. The pressure against Dean’s body abruptly ceased and Dean fell in a crumpled heap onto the mattress, gasping and choking for air. Before he could recover the demon grabbed him roughly by the hair, dragged him up and slammed his head hard against the wall again. Hard enough Dean might have been worried about a serious concussion if he wouldn’t be dead in the next few minutes.

The demon chucked as it pressed up against him, whispering in his ear.

“I’m going to enjoy making you scream…”

* * *

Sam’s first instinct was to crash the Impala into the church foyer. Instead, his father’s drilled-in training took over. If he’d been paying attention at the motel his head wouldn’t be pounding from the baseball bat to his skull and his arm and side wouldn’t be tight and throbbing from the same weapon. How had he forgotten he was a target? Because he had considered Dean—the same Dean he had given his first blow job to—the only threat. Stupid. His father taught him better. He couldn’t afford to be stupid again. He could feel that Dean was in trouble. He was still alive, but definitely in trouble.

Sam pulled off the road into the copse of trees the hunters had already marked as a safe place to hide a vehicle from the common passer-by. Keeping a close eye on the area around the church, Sam went to the trunk and gathered his salt-loaded shotgun, his .45 loaded with silver blessed bullet, and a water pistol still loaded with holy water from the other night when going up against Dean. Clipping his iron knife onto his belt, he shoved two pieces of chalk into his back pocket and grabbed a container of salt. He quietly shut the trunk and slunk low across the parking lot, his eyes searching for anything or anyone in the landscape save for himself but saw nothing and no one.

The front door to the church was open and when Sam reached it, he saw the salt line had been blown away by the wind. He listened intently as he softly shut the door and poured fresh salt along the threshold. Why hadn’t they taken that extra precaution of a devil’s trap at the door? If he lived through this, and assuming Bobby was still alive, he’d take a small bit of pleasure from pointing that out to the older hunter. At least he wasn’t the only one being sloppy.

A muted voice down the hall drew his attention and he crept toward the sound, glancing in each room as he passed by. In Bobby’s temporary workroom he spotted Bobby crumpled against the wall. He dashed to his friend and worriedly felt for a pulse, relieved when he found one. A quick triage showed him Bobby had merely been knocked out but seemed fine otherwise. Knowing Dean was still in danger, he returned to the hall and covered the short distance to the basement door, hiding in the shadows as he peered down the steps.

Dean was held by invisible bonds against the concrete block wall and a dark-haired man wielding a knife stood in front of him. The bandages over Dean’s shoulder wound were ripped off and blood trickled down Dean’s chest as the man probed Dean’s gunshot wound with the tip of the knife, twisting the tip and digging it into Dean’s tender flesh. Dean’s face was contorted in pain as he gasped, but he didn’t scream.

Sam didn’t let himself have time to think. He couldn’t risk the demon sensing him or his intentions. Leveling the .45 and taking careful aim, he buried a bullet in the only good target he had at the moment, the man’s shoulder. Sam started down the stairs and as the man turned, he put another bullet into him. The dark-haired man’s laughter filled the room and Sam felt a force throw him off of the stairs and into the wall as Sam’s .45 and shotgun were wrenched from his hands. Invisible fingers squeezed his trachea as he was held there against the wall, deprived of oxygen. He knew Dean would die soon after he died or fell unconscious. Struggling to get hold of the water pistol, his gaze locked with Dean’s, silently saying he was sorry, silently begging Dean for help. He felt his world growing dark; he couldn’t let Dean die. He couldn’t. He wished Dean was at least free to fight the demon bastard and felt the brief flare of power within him before he began to sag in the demon’s intractable grip.

* * *

Dean grit his teeth against the white hot pain flaring through him as the knife dug deeper into the flesh of his already wounded shoulder. Blood dripping heavily down the young man’s chest already, but Dean refused to scream, refused to give the demon bastard that pleasure. He knew soon he might not have a choice, but for now he stubbornly remained silent.

His muscles clenched, trembling, as he panted heavily. Fighting against the invisible bonds that held him even though he knew it was useless. They held more securely than the iron chains around his wrists and ankles and without his powers he was just as Dumah said he was. Nothing more than pathetic human meat just waiting to be torn apart.

Dumah was taking his time with him. Starting slow. Soon he knew the demon would start to skin him alive, as promised. His black eyes filled with pleasure as he worked the knife slowly deeper into his flesh. Not easing up for a moment. As long as Dean didn’t lose too much blood it could go on for hours like this. Days if the demon wished. As much as Dumah hated him, Dean expected it to.

What he hadn’t expected was the sound of the gunshot that rang out like thunder in the relative silence of the church. Dumah jerking, some of his blood hitting Dean in the face, before the demon turned around. Dean’s eyes widening when he saw Sam quickly descending the stairs shooting the demon again.

“No…” The sound broke free from his mouth as a pained moan before he realized it and Dean didn’t know whether it was directed to Sam foolishly coming to his rescue, or a plea to the demon he would have never offered for himself. It didn’t matter because he was utterly helpless to stop the events unfolding before him. Only able to watch as Sam was thrown like a ragdoll by the powerful demon, only able to watch as the younger man struggled just as ineffectually as he did, only able to watch as Sam was slowly being choked to death in front of him, the other man’s eyes rolling back in his head…

No…

Then, suddenly, Dumah stumbled back under a wave of power not unlike the uncontrolled blast that Dean had felt back at the old abandoned paper mill. It left the elder man’s head reeling, just as before, but at the same time he didn’t give a damn because he also felt the invisible bonds holding him in place vanish, and Dean reacted without thinking. With a snarl of pure hatred Dean surged forward and wrapped his chains around the demon’s throat, using all of his strength to pull them taunt. Trapping the demon against him.

“Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei…” The demon struggled as viciously as Dean began reciting the Latin words he’d memorized long ago. Dumah growled and clawed at him in rage, but Dean refused to let go, his voice never faltering no matter what damage the demon tried to do to him.

“Sancti, ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei, quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum suum vocare dignatus est, ut fiat templum Dei vivi, et Spiritus Sanctus habitet in eo. Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum, qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, et saeculum per ignem.”

Dean took great pleasure hearing the bones in the demon’s neck snapping like twigs as he twisted the chains even tighter, hearing it howl in pain as black smoke bellowed from its mouth as Dean finished the exorcism ritual, sending the demon back to hell. The sudden sagging of the dead body bringing Dean down with it, exhausted from the struggle.

* * *

To say he had a headache before was almost an understatement of how his head throbbed now. Sam slowly opened his eyes, trying to figure out where he was. The floor was cold concrete and he pushed himself upright with wobbly arms. He blinked a few times as he looked around. Seeing Dean in a motionless heap entangled with the demon, Dean’s chains wrapped around its neck, brought him instantly to his feet and he stumbled over to Dean. The demon appeared to be gone, its head twisted at a gruesome angle and the body it was using long dead.

After untangling the chains from its mangled neck, Sam lifted the dead body away from Dean with little effort. Sam ripped off his flannel shirt, wadded it up and used it as a makeshift bandage for Dean’s wound, staving the blood. Dean was breathing but the breaths were shallow and Dean felt cold to his touch. Sam grabbed the blanket that was lying on the mattress and pulled it over Dean as he gently cradled Dean to his chest, trying to share his body’s warmth with his brother.

“Don’t leave me, Dean,” Sam begged softly, leaning down and brushing his lips across Dean's.

* * *

Dean groaned softly as he came around slowly.

He wasn’t unused to waking like this. His head throbbing like it had been hit with a sledge hammer and his body feeling like every inch was torn or bruised in some way. He must have blacked out at some point, which wasn’t all that surprising. Considering everything… What was surprising, and he was definitely not used to, was waking up to the feeling of warm arms wrapped securely around him, holding him gently. A gentle, worried voice whispering to him, and the steady beat of a heart beneath his ear. Soft lips pressing against his own…

“Sam?” He whispered as slowly forced his eyes open to look up at the young man practically cradling him against his chest. Blinking his eyes into focus on Sam’s face. An expression there he never thought he’d ever see, at least not for him. Sam was afraid for him? It was strange to think of anyone worrying for him. Even more strange when he felt sure his own expression mirrored the younger man’s when he looked at Sam.

“M’fine…” Dean reassured, and he knew he was. His injuries were nothing he hadn’t endured before, even with the amount of blood he’d lost over the past couple of days, Dean knew he was in no danger of dying.

Dean glanced down Sam’s body, trying to gauge his injuries instead. He noticed some heavy bruising but the only blood he could see was his own. But before he could open his mouth again to ask the younger man if he were all right, a thump from upstairs and then the sound of rushing footsteps approaching had him tensing.

* * *

Sam growled to himself, hearing what were surely Bobby’s footsteps. He was both relieved to hear Bobby up and around, and annoyed that he couldn’t cover this time. He couldn’t just toss Dean aside; Dean’s injuries were worse. Let Bobby call him foolish. There was no denying Dean had apparently saved him, even if he was saving himself as well.

“Like hell you’re fine,” Sam scoffed softly. He turned his attention to the approaching footsteps. “Bobby, tell me that’s you up there!”

“Sam!” Bobby shouted back, surprise in his voice.

“Bring the first aid kit. Dean’s hurt!”

Bobby appeared at the top of the steps, shotgun in hand. He saw Sam cradling that _thing_ in his arms and spotted the deadman’s body a few feet away. “Sam—“

“Get the God-damned first aid kit!” Sam yelled at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Bobby disappeared from view, returning a handful of seconds later, the first aid kit in tow. He scowled at seeing Sam holding the enemy in his arms, practically like a lover!

“The demon dug into Dean’s gunshot wound with a knife. I need morphine for him, a saline IV, fresh bandages, and one of those emergency blankets,” Sam told Bobby.

Muttering to himself, Bobby reluctantly gave Sam what he wanted. He stretched the IV bag over to the wall and hooked it on one of the fasteners holding the chains. Sam spoke soothingly to Dean as Bobby inserted the IV in Dean’s arm and pushed the morphine in once the IV was flowing. With a sigh, he also pushed a shot of antibiotics. Sam continued to hold the man as Bobby re-dressed the shoulder wound after sterilizing it, then got the emergency blanket out, putting it under the ratty one they’d given the man. Bobby pulled over the propane heater and turned it on.

Bobby eyed Sam. “Good enough?”

Sam gave a small nod. “Thanks, Bobby. How’s your head?”

“Hurts like a three day hangover,” Bobby snorted. He pulled the chair over and got out an icepack that he promptly applied to the back of his head.

“What happened?” Sam asked. He finally felt Dean begin to relax in his arms, the morphine probably kicking in. Dean seemed to have warmed up some, the saline solution giving him back some of the fluids that he’d lost and helping to keep shock at bay. He considered laying Dean down, but frankly, he didn’t want to move, exhaustion filling every aching part of his body.

“One minute I’m working on studying the new herbal infusion and then I hear you come back. Least I thought it was you. Next thing I know, some demon is standing in the doorway and I’m thrown into the wall. Soon as I woke up, I came here. Now why don’t you fill in the blanks for me?”

Sam briefly recounted the attack at the motel and his arrival and encounter with the demon. “Dean saved my life, Bobby. Obviously exorcised it and broke its neck.”

“As like, was saving his own skin,” Bobby said, cocking an eyebrow at the younger Winchester.

“Whatever the reason, he saved my life,” Sam insisted and then pointed out, “He probably saved yours too.”

Shaking his head, Bobby harrumphed. “You’re gonna believe the best in the …in Dean. Just don’t get—“

“Stupid. I know.” Sighing, Sam knew he needed to help Bobby tend to things. Carefully he laid a softly protesting Dean down on the mattress, using the ratty blanket as a pillow to help keep Dean’s head and chest a little elevated. God, he was so tired.

He waved Bobby toward the body of the dead man. “Let’s get him upstairs. We can bury him after the sun goes down.”

The two men lugged the dead weight upstairs. Sam tossed Bobby a piece of chalk. “Looks like we need devil’s traps on all the entrances. I’m going to go get the food I bought brought in. After that, I want you to go to the hospital and have that head of yours checked out.”

“I’m fine Sam,” Bobby said as he caught the chalk and headed toward the front entrance. He was beginning to get annoyed at the way Sam was ordering him around. If he didn’t know better he’d think he had a John Winchester wannabe on his hands. “Jim is probably ready for a break. I’ll send him to clear out our stuff from the the motel.”

Sam shook his head, immediately regretting it as pain shot through his skull. “I don’t think we’re going to have any trouble for at least a few days. Just tell him to be careful. I really don’t want to lose that motel room.”

“We’ll move to different motel then,” Bobby challenged.

Sam considered. “Probably a good idea.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Bobby asked eyeing the ugly bruises on Sam’s side and along his arm. He’d seen the wince Sam had given when he’d shaken his head.

“I hurt, but yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to take some aspirin when I get a chance in a few minutes.”

Bobby grunted acknowledgement, not sure he bought what Sam was selling, but decided not to push it. “I leave, you stay away from him, clear?”

“Yes, I’ll be careful,” Sam said and headed out the door. After he got the food lugged in, he helped Bobby finish putting devil’s traps on the entrances.

Sam waved at the door. “Okay, go,” Sam said, pulling out a sandwich and shoving it into Bobby’s hands. “I’m going to check on Dean, take some aspirin, and get some sleep.”

Bobby accepted the offered sandwich and with a sigh headed for the exit. He paused at the door and measured Sam. The boy looked whipped. He figured Sam would still be asleep by the time time Jim got back.

Sam gave Bobby a weary smile. “Tell Jim if he wants to catch some sleep at the new motel, to go ahead. Ask him to call me before he heads here. I’ll probably want some hot food and more ice for the ice chest.”

After a moment Bobby gave a nod and headed out to his car. Sam watched him go, then headed down to the basement. After checking on Dean, he emptied his pockets contents onto the chair then laid down next to Dean, throwing his arm protectively across Dean’s chest and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

A small smile curved Dean’s lips at the younger man’s reply, but Dean was too tired right now to argue the point. He simply let Sam hold him, enjoying the warmth of the younger man’s arms around him while it while it lasted. Sure that Sam would put him down any second, not wanting the other hunter to see them together like this.

It was a shame that the other hunter had apparently survived as well. Dumah was losing his touch, Dean thought with a frown. But, surprisingly, Sam didn’t put him down and Dean raised an eyebrow at that, and the way the younger man yelled at the other hunter to bring the first aid kit when Bobby didn’t the first time. Maybe even more surprising was how the older man obeyed.

Though Dean watched the older hunter more than a little warily as Bobby inserted the IV needle into his arm, he remained still at Sam’s gentle urgings. Even when the older man injected him with what he could only assume was painkillers. He wouldn’t put it past the older man to use this situation to his advantage to give him something far less pleasant.

Dean had never had anyone else tend to his wounds, unless they were life threatening and he was unable, neither of which was the case now so he had nothing to really go by. But he was still surprised that even though the older man worked as quickly and efficiently as possible he also took care not to cause him any additional unnecessary pain. Even pulling the heater closer once he was finished, something Sam had not asked him to do, to keep him warm.

As the pain began to recede to a dull throb, probably due to the morphine, Dean found himself relaxing even more in Sam’s arms. His eyes drifting closed, and his thoughts growing heavier by the second. Even though he wasn’t asleep, he was getting there quickly. Listening to the two men talk, Dean frowned as Sam recounted how he’d been attacked after he’d left here. It didn’t surprise him, but it bothered him. More than he was willing to admit.

Dean found he didn’t really regret that in saving his own life he’d also saved Sam’s, ensuring he remained a prisoner. Though he couldn’t say the same in regards to the older hunter. But Dean knew if he had to make the choice again, he’d make the same one. Even if he was only saving Sam’s life, and not his own… maybe the painkillers were stronger than he thought. That had to be it. If there was one thing Dean was not it was self sacrificing.

Dean mumbled softly in protest as Sam laid him down. Not wanting the younger man to leave him but it wasn’t like he had any choice. Just like he’d never had any choice when his dreams of Sam would end and he was forced back into harsh reality.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, long enough for him to have fallen asleep against his will from sheer exhaustion. His instincts too highly honed not to wake him, no matter how exhausted he might be, when he felt movement next to him. But knowing who it was without even opening his eyes Dean didn’t even flinch when he felt the younger man lay down next to him. When he felt Sam lay his arm over him Dean turned into the embrace, falling asleep again with a sigh of contentment.

* * *

Sam felt the warm body nestled against him and smiled sleepily. His many aches and pains began to cut through his drowsing and he realized it wasn’t Jessica he would find in his arms when he opened his eyes. He swallowed back the sudden lump that filled his throat and wondered how long her absence would make his heart ache like this. In a way he was glad for the emotional pain. Yesterday—was it only yesterday?—he feared he’d thrown his love for Jessica aside, filling that gaping wound with…his brother. That was wrong on so many levels he refused to analyze it too closely. There were still too many raw wounds, too much confusion inside him.

Dean had always been his best friend, so it felt less…incestuous…to think of him as his life long companion who just happened to be male rather than as his brother. Even if it was wrong, he liked having Dean in his arms, feeling his warmth against him. His whole life was fucked up. Why not this too? He needed comfort now and he found it in Dean. He couldn’t be certain he wasn’t just using Dean but that too he would worry about another day. Not today. Not while Dean was with him in this time and this place. And God did he hope Jim and Bobby were no where around.

Sam finally slit open his eyes, only to find Dean was already awake and watching him. Those beautiful green eyes; he felt he could fall into those eyes and drown. He absently noticed Dean had pulled out the IV, the saline bag long empty and that he hadn’t bled through his new bandages on his shoulder. His hand went up to that shoulder, brushing it only lightly then ran his fingers along the side of Dean’s face. His gaze drifted from Dean’s eyes to his lips. They were so sensual. He’d never seen such sensual lips on a man. Then again he had never actually noticed a man’s lips before. He studied Dean’s lips, gently touching them, feeling their softness, investigating their outline. So beautiful. Like Dean’s eyes.

* * *

Dean wasn’t sure exactly what had woken him and that bothered him. He’d been sleeping deeply, more deeply than he could remember in a long time. But now that he was awake, he was alert in an instant. Pushing himself up on his elbow, ignoring the various aches and pains in his body that protested, as his eyes immediately scanned the basement for any signs of danger. Listening carefully for any noises from the rooms above… but there was none.

The only sounds Sam’s soft breathing, and the propane heater working not far away. He relaxed again slowly, almost reluctantly, as his attention turned to the younger man nestled up so closely against him. Pressed tightly together as they were, Dean couldn’t feel even a little chill in the air. The younger man’s body like a not so small furnace in his arms keeping the chill in the air away far better than the heater.

He shifted, frowning at the pull of the IV needle in his arm, and noticing the IV Bag was empty anyway he pulled it out. Letting it dangle from the chain where it had been hung. Looking back down at the younger man when Sam stirred a little against him and Dean caught himself staring unashamedly at the other man’s features so relaxed and peaceful in sleep. Surprised how Sam looked so much younger while he slept.

Dean could tell the younger man was waking as well by the change in his breathing, and maybe that was what had roused him before. Dean wasn’t used to… sleeping with anyone. He certainly wasn’t used to waking up with anyone in his arms. It was… odd… but not in an unpleasant way. Not unpleasant in the least.

He found he couldn’t look away even when Sam opened his eyes. At least the younger man didn’t seem to mind the fact that he’d been watching him. Even though the way Sam was studying him now made his stomach clench a little. Made his pulse jump.

Dean’s eyes flickered down briefly at Sam’s hand when the younger man touched his shoulder and they returned to the other man’s almost questioningly when that same hand moved to his face. Dean found himself leaning his face into the gentle touch, almost against his will, his lips parting with a sigh as Sam’s thumb ghosted over them.

Dean felt like he was caught, being moved, by something he couldn’t control. Something he didn’t want to control, as he leaned in slowly to press his lips to the younger man’s. It wasn’t like the soft innocent kisses that they’d shared as children, nor was it heated, wild, and full of desire like when Sam jerked him off before. Cupping Sam’s face he tasted the younger man’s lips slowly, leisurely, as though they had all the time in the universe.

* * *

Sam couldn’t help but respond to Dean’s kiss. It was so…peaceful and calming, while at the same time he felt his chest tighten and his pulse increase. Dean’s tongue teased his lips lightly as they kissed and Sam opened his mouth, wanting Dean to deepen the kiss. His own tongue met Dean’s to coax it in and while the kiss grew in intensity, it was still relaxed, like they had been lovers for years. And maybe in a strange sort of way they had. It had never manifested itself this way but it felt so right to have Dean pressed against him, to have Dean kissing him so thoroughly. Sam almost felt as if Dean were romancing his mouth; he tasted and savored everything Dean.

Dean pressed so firmly against him, he knew Dean had to feel his growing erection and he moaned into Dean’s mouth as Dean shifted. He wrapped his leg over Dean’s and his hands slid under Dean’s shirt and caressed his back slowly. If it were possible, he pulled Dean closer and moaned again. How could Dean make him feel this way? His world was made up of only Dean and that’s all he wanted. He could lie with Dean this way forever. He couldn’t help but arch a little into Dean, rubbing his erection firmly against Dean, wanting him to know just how much he was affecting him.

* * *

What was Sam doing to him? What was wrong with him?

He shouldn’t be letting the younger man affect him this way. He shouldn’t be forgetting himself like this. Letting himself get lost so completely in the taste of Sam’s lips, and warmth of the other man’s body pressed so close to him. Forgetting everything else. How this boy was like him in more ways than Sam could ever know. This boy that his father would stop at nothing to possess, and how if Dean wasn’t the one to give him to his father…

The demon that had attacked the church should have been a reminder, as though Dean could ever truly forget, the repercussions of his failure. Dean had always been well aware of the delicate edge he walked. Survival was all he knew. Pleasing his father all he’d ever strived for.

But with Sam in his arms like this, soft and warm and… beautiful… he couldn’t think about anything except how much _he_ wanted Sam. How much he wanted this boy who had been his one true secret he’d ever kept from his father. How much he wanted Sam… for himself.

Dean had gone to great lengths to keep his secret, his friend, his sweet dream, the only comfort he’d ever known, then and now. Some part deep inside of him, the same part that had reacted instinctively to seeing Sam in danger, knew he’d go to the same lengths to keep Sam to himself now. Away from his father, away from everyone or anything that might harm him, or take Sam away from him…

He groaned softly as the younger man parted his lips, Sam’s soft sweet tongue inviting him in further and it was an invitation he accepted gladly. Tasting every inch of the younger man’s mouth slowly while his hands mapped Sam’s body. Trailing his fingers down his throat and chest. Slipping his arm around the younger man to draw him in closer. Caressing down his back, over his buttocks, and up and down his thigh wrapped around him. It felt so good, and yet wasn’t enough, because he wanted, needed, to feel bare flesh beneath his touch.

“Want to feel you…” Dean whispered softly, nipping lightly at the younger man’s swollen lower lip. Slipping his hand between them to cup Sam briefly through his jeans, squeezing the younger man gently before sliding up to unbutton them and ease his zipper down.

* * *

Pulling Sam into a tighter embrace, Dean’s hands investigated his body the way his tongue investigated his mouth. Every place Dean’s hands roamed they left fire in their wake. Sam groaned every time Dean’s hands shifted to a new area, the previous area craving for the caressing touch to return while the new area burned. He had never felt such raw heat under anyone’s touch, not even Jessica’s. He wanted to intensify their kiss but he let Dean take lead. If Dean wanted it slow, Sam would let it be slow.

He began his own investigation of the body he already felt he knew. His hands had ghosted over the wounds that were now scars when he was Dean’s dream boy. To touch the scars now, his hands traced them as if in doing so he could take away all the pain they’d ever caused Dean. When he touched the scar that was mirrored on his own back, he paused and focused on it, gently running his fingers along it, remembering his father’s worried countenance as Sam could offer no reasonable explanation as to how his own back had been so viciously and deeply cut. He’d felt Dean’s agony with every injury Dean had suffered and it had given him a strength to push through most any pain of his own. When he’d broken his arm on a hunt once, he hadn’t told his father until the job was done. He had seen both pride and concern in his father’s face that night and seeing both had pleased him and he had Dean to thank for that small gift.

When Dean pulled away from their kiss Sam nearly whimpered. Dean biting at his lip elicited a groan instead. When Dean cupped and squeezed him, the blood rushed straight to his cock. He gasped as he threw his head back at the pleasure/pain, exposing his throat to Dean as he pulled his hips back a little, giving Dean easier access to his jeans. He felt his button come undone as Dean’s fingers brushed against bare skin. Couldn’t he work faster? He heard and felt the slow opening of his zipper and was glad for the sudden release from the confines of his jeans.

“Want you to feel me,” Sam whispered, all but digging his nails into Dean’s back as he felt Dean caress him through his shorts. “Touch me,” he begged, sliding one hand beneath Dean’s jeans and squeezing Dean’s buttocks as he pressed his erection against Dean’s hand.

* * *

Dean traced the line of Sam’s jaw, down his throat, with his lips when the younger man tilted his head back in an invitation Dean couldn’t refuse. Nipping lightly and sucking on the spot where Sam’s pulse beat the strongest as he shivered in pleasure under the younger man’s touch.

Sam touched him almost reverently. His fingers tracing the lines of scars on his skin with such tenderness Dean wasn’t sure if the younger man were afraid touching him that way might cause him pain or if Sam were trying to take away whatever phantom pain remained from the long healed marks. No one had ever touched him with the intent to take away pain, no one but Sam…

It was the cruelest twist of fate the only touch he’d ever longed for, craved, belonged to that of his enemy, but Dean refused to think about that now. Moaning softly at the bite of the younger man’s fingernails against his back as he eased Sam’s jeans and underwear down to the middle of his thighs, letting his teeth nip a little harder at the tender skin of his throat in retaliation before soothing the sting away with his tongue.

He slid his palm up along the younger man’s inner thigh, letting his thumb play gently over the incredibly soft flesh where Sam’s leg met his body before he cupped and fondled Sam’s balls. Taking his time to learn the weight and feel of him slowly, just as Dean had explored every other part of Sam, before wrapping his fingers around the heat of the younger man’s shaft.

“So hot, Sam…” Dean whispered as he lifted his head, his gaze sweeping down the length of Sam’s body hungrily. Pushing back into the hand on his buttocks while he slowly stroked up and down the length of Sam’s cock. His thumb tracing around the sensitive crown on every upstroke, teasing the weeping slit, before spreading the younger man’s come down his shaft, slicking his entire length.

* * *

Sam’s didn’t think anything could burn in him hotter than Dean’s touch, but when Dean kissed his way down to Sam’s throat, he found he was wrong. Dean’s focused attack on his neck made Sam’s heart race. His fingers moved from Dean’s back to tangle in his hair as he arched against that mouth that teased and sucked and bit at his throat, moaning in pleasure.

Sam quivered in raw anticipation as Dean pushed his jeans and shorts away from his hardened cock. In turn, frustration made him groan as Dean’s touch stopped at his upper thigh but when that touch moved on and investigated his balls with slow deliberation, Sam shuddered. When Dean finally took Sam’s cock in his hand, all Sam’s willpower was needed not to come then and there. His fingers wrapped more insistently in Dean’s hair and he caressed Dean’s buttocks with more vigor. Dean pressing back into that caressing hand made Sam reach between them to undo the button on Dean’s jeans. He unzipped Dean’s pants as Dean stroked him. The feel of his own come slickening his cock made him thrust his hips forward into Dean’s hand. Any thought of trying to return pleasure to Dean’s own stiff erection was lost and his hand instead slid under the back side of Dean’s waistband so both hands now roamed over Dean’s buttocks squeezing and caressing.

Dean’s stroke was almost agonizingly slow. He tilted his head his head up and met Dean’s smoldering gaze as he thrust into Dean’s hand with each slow stroke. When he tried to increase the pace, Dean refused to let him. Dean teased his crown and the sensitive underside of his cock, squeezing and caressing until Sam was thrusting harder and harder, his breath beginning to come in pants. Freeing his hands from Dean’s jeans, Sam slid them up Dean’s back, his fingernails scraping. He pulled Dean toward him, wanting to taste Dean’s sweet mouth again while he fucked Dean’s hand.

* * *

Dean couldn’t help but smile, pleased with himself, at how desperately Sam clung to him. So hot and needy in his arms. So perfect. A part of him wished this could go on for hours. This slow teasing. Building Sam’s pleasure until he was writhing and begging in his arms, then easing him back. Keeping him there caught between pleasure and pain. But his own desire right now for the younger man was simply too great, he knew he wouldn’t last that long, and when he came he wanted Sam right there with him.

So when Sam opened his jeans, caressing his ass so boldly before his hands moved up to his back, tugging him closer, Dean knew the time for teasing was over. Dean groaned as he crushed his lips to the younger man’s, thrusting his tongue practically down the younger man’s throat, swallowing the sounds of pleasure Sam made greedily.

He reluctantly released the younger man’s hot throbbing flesh to push his own jeans down to the middle of this thighs. Dean wasted no time then reaching around to grasp Sam’s ass again in a firm grip as he pulled the younger man against him hard, aligning their hips, and shuddering as their erections slid together trapped between their bodies.

* * *

When Dean’s lips met his, Sam bucked against Dean, knowing he wasn’t going to last much longer no matter how slowly Dean stroked him. He practically swallowed Dean’s welcome tongue, his hot fiery kiss, and felt as if he couldn’t get enough of Dean. No more a slow and leisurely kiss, it had become intense and passionate. Sam thrust harder and faster into Dean’s hand, feeling his release growing closer.

Dean’s hand releasing his member put him in agony as he tried to find pressure, any pressure to ease the pain, to let him come. He cried in protest into Dean’s mouth and would have begged Dean to finish him if his mouth weren’t otherwise engaged. But then Dean’s hands went to Sam’s buttocks. No, that wasn’t what he needed! He whimpered until Dean suddenly pulled him against Dean’s now bare flesh. Sam practically melted in Dean’s arms as their bodies pressed together and their cocks rubbed against each other. The pressure was heaven and Sam was finally given control to set his own pace. He began thrusting and felt Dean match him as he increased the pace more and more. A part of him begged to draw this precious moment out, to slow down and feel Dean rubbing against him, only to increase in pace again, but he was simply too far gone. Dean seemed to know it and coaxed him closer and closer to final orgasm.

The heat coiled in Sam belly as his balls drew up and he came so hard he was screaming his pleasure into Dean’s mouth. He knew Dean was coming with him and that made it that much better, that much more satisfying as his cock pulsed again and again, emptying its load with abandon. The warm liquid washed between them, slicking their stomachs and chest, drawing out the release for an impossibly long time.

* * *

It felt better than Dean ever could have imagined. The way Sam moved against him, moaning into his mouth, so needy, the younger man’s cock leaving burning hot damp trails across his skin. His own cock weeping and throbbing against Sam’s, their bodies fitting together as though they were made for each other. It was perfect. Utterly perfect. He’d never felt anything so good in his entire life. Dean wished it could have lasted forever, but they were both too far gone now.

His hands were firm on Sam’s firm ass, guiding, pulling Sam against him. The younger man clinging to him so desperately as he thrust his hips forward. Each of them trying to get even closer, even though they were already so close not even air separated them. All too soon the younger man was shuddering in his arms, whimpering and spilling his seed hotly across both their skin, practically scorching him, and Dean groaned in half pleasure half pain into Sam’s mouth. His own cock pulsing seconds after the younger man as he clutched Sam as close to him as possible. Bruising tight and not caring. Never wanting to let Sam go.

Too many times he’d had to let Sam go in his dreams. Always forced to return to the harsh reality of his life when all he wanted was to stay in those gentle arms no matter how insubstantial they were. No longer. He never wanted to let go again.

Gradually the intensity of their passion subsided and Dean became aware of just how tightly he was holding onto Sam. Maybe even painfully so, and he gentled his hold. Pulling back just a little, his breath hot and panting across Sam’s soft lips as he brushed his fingertips lightly over the curve of the younger man’s ass, his lips kissing Sam’s carefully now, almost in apology. Small aftershocks of pleasure rippling through him making his body shiver occasionally.

* * *

If Dean held him anymore tightly, Sam wasn’t sure he’d be able to breathe, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that his bruised side complained at the tight embrace, or that he was pretty certain he popped a few stitches on his wounded chest. He knew pain, having experienced some of Dean’s pain through the years and these aches were trivial next to the thrill of having Dean so very close, so very tangible. Dean had probably left bruises on him during their lovemaking, but he had probably bruised Dean as well. If Dean felt the need to hold him so tightly, Sam wasn’t going to complain. When Dean let him go, Sam would have to return to the real world. The world where Jessica and Mike were dead, his father was in ICU, and his lover was his brother. Oh, and demons were after him and his lover and brother was his enemy. He would rather stay wrapped in Dean’s tight embrace, feeling their heat mingle and radiate, their spunk mix with the sweat coating them both. He wanted this to last forever, or at least as long as possible which he knew would not be long enough. It would never be long enough.

The feel of Dean loosening his hold roused Sam out of the existence he wanted to stay in where small waves of pleasure rolled through him and he was held in the safety of Dean’s arms. He wanted to protest, to beg Dean to stay this way with him just a little while longer. When Dean began to pull away, he began to tighten his hold. No, he wasn’t willing to let Dean go yet.

He felt Dean’s breath on his face as both of them still panted from their exquisite lovemaking. Dean gently caressed him and leaned back in, his kisses soft rather than bruising. Sam kissed him back with a bit more intensity than Dean offered, moaning a little at Dean’s so delicate touches. Brushing his own hands along Dean’s back and sides, he felt small shivers run through Dean and knew they were the same aftershocks Sam himself was feeling. That sent its own wave of pleasure through him to know this had been as pleasurable for Dean as it was for him.

He felt his cheeks redden a little at the thought Dean was the first man he had ever slept with and if he had known how hard he would come making love with a man, he might have been a bit more interested in men before now. Thinking that, he knew he had really only come so hard was because it was Dean. It was obvious from Dean’s guidance that he was far from the first man Dean had slept with, and a sudden spike of jealously filled him. He pushed his tongue deeply into Dean’s mouth, wanting to make sure Dean only tasted him and that the thought of any other man Dean may have enjoyed the company of would be swept away. He slowly explored every niche he could as his hand cupped the back of Dean’s head and he pressed his lips more firmly against Dean’s. He knew he was spent but he wanted to go again. He wanted to feel Dean’s cock rubbing against him and feel the desperate clutching of one another all over again.

* * *

Dean’s heart clenched a little at the way Sam clung to him almost desperately. Rubbing his spent cock wetly against his slick stomach making Dean moan in pleasure as another shiver of rippled through his already oversensitive muscles. Loving the way the younger man returned his kisses, pushing his tongue greedily into his mouth with far more heat than the elder man had offered. It seemed that Sam was ready to go another round with him even before the afterglow of their first orgasm had faded. Not that Dean was complaining, not in the least.

As he returned the younger man’s kiss, sucking on Sam’s tongue, Dean rolled them both over. Pressing the other man back and pinning him underneath his weight against the mattress. Dean finally broke their kiss and lifted his head. Taking in the younger man’s flushed features and swollen lips. Raking his eyes hungrily down the length of his exposed body without shame. The younger man’s muscular frame glistening with sweat and come.

So beautiful…

“Let me taste you.” Dean whispered, but though he’d asked he didn’t wait for the younger man’s reply before he started to kiss his way down Sam’s chest. Tracing down Sam’s muscles with his tongue, nipping lightly with his teeth, moaning at the taste of the younger man’s sweat, and when he neared the other man’s stomach, their mingled seed pooled on Sam’s flesh.

“So sweet…” Dean groaned, lapping it up greedily, while looking up at the younger man through hooded eyelashes, licking his lips.

* * *

When Dean began sucking on his tongue, Sam moaned at the sensation, it being more erotic than he would have thought such a simple act could be. He was a little started when Dean rolled them over and his body all but held Sam pinned, Dean’s flesh touching his in so many places and all those places still prickling from the orgasm. That Dean held him so helpless excited him in ways he had never felt before. His cock began to take notice and he whimpered when Dean pulled away from their kiss.

Dean’s lust-filled gaze brought a flush of red to Sam cheeks. Never had he had anyone look at him that way before. He had seen appreciation, he had seen love, but this was an almost feral look, one of desired possession. He had always been more of the aggressive one when it came to love-making, but for Dean he was willing to be possessed, he was willing to give Dean damned near anything he wanted, so long as Dean looked at him that way again. That look triggered feelings and reactions in him that he could barely comprehend.

A fresh shiver shot through him with Dean’s words. As Dean’s lips slowly kissed their way down his chest, he couldn’t do anything but watch and arch a little into those lips and those light delicious nips. Each moan Dean made Sam echoed. When Dean reached his stomach, the feel of Dean’s wet tongue was almost painful, he was so sensitized. Dean watching him made his heart jump. His member, all but flaccid, began to fill again as Dean licked him and told Sam how sweet he tasted. Those eyes, those dangerous, beautiful green eyes...

Dean’s skillful tongue swirled around his stomach and darted in and out of his navel, almost like he was fucking it. Dean mouth, so very close to his cock, made him groan. Barely done spilling its seed it, still it ached anew for attention.

Dean’s tongue left fire in its wake, fire turned chill when air touched the wet skin. While the air stole away the physical heat, Sam’s pleasure flared into a firestorm of desire that bordered on pain. He hadn’t thought he could actually go another round with Dean, but his body now told him otherwise.

“Fuck me, again, Dean,” Sam begged as he writhed under Dean’s attention, twining Dean’s short locks in his fingers.

* * *

Dean lifted his head at Sam’s request, looking at the younger man with a bit of surprise before he smiled and chuckled softly. The sound not mocking or cruel, but warm and a little amused as the elder man pressed one last kiss to the quivering muscles of Sam’s stomach before he pushed himself up to kneel between the younger man’s spread legs.

He looked down at Sam with an almost thoughtful expression as his hand’s settled warmly on the other man’s thighs. Running his fingertips up and down the soft skin while he drank in the sight of the beautiful young man laid out before him. Sometimes sliding his palms along Sam’s inner thighs, so light his touch was almost tickling, though for the moment he avoided touching Sam’s reawakening arousal.

“Sam…” Dean almost sighed the name as his fingers lightly trailed up the younger man’s stomach, his chains dragging along the same path making him pause for a moment before he continued. “I haven’t fucked you. Yet.”

Dean’s lips quirked a little as his eyes locked with the younger man’s as he pointed out that little detail.

“But I can. If you want me to.”

* * *

Sam liked Dean’s chuckle. He liked the sincerity and warmth. The next kiss to his stomach was firm and final. Seeing Dean kneeling as he was between his legs, Sam almost sighed, more than ready to have those sensual lips and that hot sweet mouth around his shaft. He drank in the muscular bare chest and six pack abs. He licked his lips at the thought of sucking on those nipples and having Dean writhe beneath him.

When Dean teased him with his bare touches along his thighs, Sam groaned. He ached to be touched again. He wanted to fuck Dean’s hand or his mouth. Anything. Anything so long as it was Dean.

The scorch of Dean’s touch as they returned to the recent area of such intense attention was countered by the cold chains, the icy metal making Sam’s stomach muscles jerk away from them. Why, if Dean was the one in shackles, did Sam feel as if he were the one imprisoned?

Sam stared at Dean’s denial. If Dean hadn’t just fucked him, what the hell had he done? He had given him a excruciating hand job, all but fucked his mouth, his navel and, when they had been pressed so closely together, their members sliding past one another—what the hell else would it be called but fucking? Ballroom dancing?

His brow furrowed and he looked at Dean quizzically. Dean looked prepped for the blow job Sam ached for, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what Dean was implying. He wasn’t really sure what Dean meant and chewed on his lip a moment, considering. He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly and at a different time it would probably be obvious, but all could think about now was how much he needed Dean to take his thickening member in his hand or mouth and bring him to his peak again. He felt a momentary pang of guilt. It really ought to be Dean’s turn to be fucked.

Whatever Dean’s intention, he trusted Dean, and trusted that it would be as pleasurable as the last time. He gave a slow, hesitant nod, not quite sure what to expect.

* * *

Sam’s confusion regarding his offer was endearing, there was no other word for it. At first Dean couldn’t believe anyone could possibly be so innocent, naive, at least not at the younger man’s age. But then again, Sam had not lived in the same world as Dean had. He had seen glimpses of it, but not experienced it firsthand. Had not been at the whim of the desires of others for most of his life…

He’d been all but expecting Sam to refuse, or at least ask what it was Dean really wanted, but the elder man was surprised when Sam did neither. Merely nodding, even though his eyes were still unsure. Trusting, giving himself over to whatever Dean wanted…

Dean honestly didn’t know what to think, what to feel, about that. That level of misplaced trust, in him. A part of him almost wanted to yell at the younger man for being so damned foolish. Didn’t Sam have any idea how much he could hurt him right now? How much he could have hurt him all along, the only reason Dean hadn’t was because of the same chains that still laid cold across the younger man’s bare skin.

No, not the only reason, Dean knew he was lying to himself but it was a lie he needed to tell because he wasn’t ready to face the truth yet. Maybe not ever. Already his world had been torn down to its very foundations, he didn’t have the strength to crush it to dust as well.

Dean closed his eyes and forced such thoughts away. Refused to think. That was easier. Just feel. When he opened his eyes again he smiled down at the younger man with a tenderness he’d never shown anyone as he leaned over Sam, letting his hand slide up the length of the younger man’s body, to kiss him softly. Tasting Sam’s lips slowly and deliberately before pulling back and pushing himself up once more.

“Just relax. I won’t hurt you.” Dean promised as he scooted himself back down, reaching down to grasp the waistband of the younger man’s jeans and shorts and easing them off Sam’s legs completely. Kissing his way back up the younger man’s inner thigh starting from his knee, pushing Sam’s knees up and his legs apart to give him the greatest access to all of him, as he dragged his tongue up the length of the younger man’s shaft now resting firm and hard against his stomach. Flicking his tongue around the head and slit, savoring Sam’s taste, before moving lower again. Sucking briefly at the younger man’s sack before letting his tongue trail even lower, between his cheeks where he wanted to taste Sam the most, his most intimate place.

* * *

Sam sensed, rather than saw the surprise in Dean. He wondered if he should be worried about that. If Dean was surprised he had accepted his offer…maybe that was bad? Still, he trusted Dean. If Dean had wanted to hurt him, Sam had given him plenty of chances. Just being close enough for Dean to wrap the chains around his neck was only the first of many examples. The way he was exposed now…hell he was at Dean’s mercy at this point, in all too many ways. He supposed one logical reason Dean hadn’t taken advantage of Sam’s apparent foolishness is that it would gain him little. If Bobby or Jim came back and found him hurt or dead, Dean was toast. Sam had no doubt that Bobby would use Dean as his guinea pig at that point and Dean surely knew that as well. He wanted—and hoped—there were other reasons at this point that Dean had not hurt him. Having sex with Dean was not the way he had at all planned to reach his brother and bring him back to them but, and Sam almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it, whatever worked. Sam certainly didn’t mind it, and neither did Dean, apparently.

The tender smile Dean suddenly gave him erased all doubt in him. That kind, sweet smile made Sam’s heart clench. It seemed so out of place on Dean’s face. Dean’s life had done anything but foster that sort of emotion and Sam wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he was the only one to ever show Dean any sort of compassion. That smile, he knew in the depths of his soul, was genuine. He glanced down at Dean’s hand sliding up his body and looked up to find Dean leaning in for a kiss. Sam kissed him back with equal deliberation. Damn was Dean a good kisser. He tasted the mix of their seed in Dean’s mouth and tried to steal that taste for himself. It, mixed with Dean, was delicious. He sighed in mild frustration when Dean once again pulled away.

Dean’s words of reassurance confused him. If he didn’t trust Dean not to hurt him, he wouldn’t be like this before him in the first place. He watched as Dean pulled his pants off the rest of the way, giving Sam a slightly more vulnerable feeling. And that was just fucking stupid. Pants on up to his knees but otherwise naked? How much more vulnerable could one get? As Dean kissed Sam’s thighs, Sam began to relax back. His arousal was still firm, but Dean was once more working his mouth in that direction and soon Sam would have what he wanted.

He let Dean spread his legs and lift his knees, a position he would put Jessica in for fellagio. He groaned as Dean’s tongue ran up his hard cock and sampled his slit, Sam digging his fingers into the mattress. When Dean sucked on his balls, Sam groaned even louder. It felt so damned good…and then Dean went lower. What the fuck?

Dean’s hot tongue slid down, between his cheeks, and found his hole. Sam clenched instinctively, startled by the invasion.

* * *

When Dean felt Sam’s thigh muscles tense beneath his hands, the younger man obviously no longer as relaxed and willing as he had been a moment ago, he stopped what he was doing. Lifting his head and looking at Sam with an almost worried expression. Maybe he had pushed too far? Maybe he should have told the younger man what he was doing before he did it and possibly scared him…

Dean was surprised just how much the idea of Sam’s trust meant to him, now that he worried he might have just damaged it. The elder man gently massaged the younger man’s thighs, as one might try to calm a skittish horse. Quickly considering what he should do. Should he continue as though nothing had happened, hoping Sam would relax as he got used to the new sensations? Or should he move back something ‘safer’, a blow job, hand job, or something else Sam was obviously used to?

But he wanted this, badly. Wanted to show the younger man how good it could feel, and he was sure Sam would want it too once he realized there was nothing to be afraid of.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want. If you tell me to stop, I will.” Dean offered, hoping that promise would help reassure the younger man. Letting his thumb slip between the firm round globes of his ass to lightly circle and tease over Sam’s sensitive hole. “It will feel good, I promise.”

* * *

As soon as Sam had jumped, Dean stopped. His concerned expression immediately eased Sam’s freak-out factor. Still, Sam’s mind raced at the implication of just where Dean’s tongue had gone and where… obviously… what… obviously… Dean had meant when he said Sam hadn’t yet been fucked.

Hell, no, he’d never had anyone stick their dick up his ass! Dean was the first guy he had ever slept with!

Dean’s hands rubbed his thighs gently, reassuringly, and Sam’s panicked breathing slowed a bit more. Dean’s worry seemed to deepen, perhaps concerned he offended Sam. Well… it just… surprised him. He wasn’t offended, he just wasn’t sure he really wanted to do _that_. And Dean’s cock was anything but on the small size. He wasn’t sure Dean could fit inside him without hurting at least one of them.

He guessed when guys had anal sex, the one on the receiving end did it because the other one needed a hot wet place to substitute for a woman. He had felt guilty that he was begging Dean to screw him again without offering to give Dean some pleasure first. Dean’s eyes reflected how badly he wanted this even though he said he would stop if Sam asked him to. He felt Dean’s thumb circle and lightly probe him as Dean promised him how good it would feel. Yeah, feel good for whom?

Okay, Dean wanted this. He wasn’t really comfortable with going there so would he be able to relax enough for Dean to push his cock up his ass? Doubtful. If he didn’t do it now, he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to because it would roll around in his mind and get worse and worse until he all but hyperventilated over it. He’d never be able to have sex with Dean again without worrying Dean would ask for this. There was only one solution.

“Let me up, Dean,” Sam said softly.

Crestfallen was the only way to describe Dean’s look as he backed away from Sam, doing as Sam had asked. Dean wouldn’t even look at him. Sam got to his feet, wincing as his abandoned arousal sent out little sharp jabs of complaint. He walked over to the first aid kit and rummaged through it, finally finding what he wanted. Returning to the mattress, he knelt beside Dean, taking Dean’s hand and turning it palm side up. He laid a tube of KY jelly in it.

“This…kind of scares me, okay? But I’ll try. For you.” He cupped Dean’s face and planted a simple kiss on Dean’s lips. “Just, uh, goes easy on me okay? I…don’t know how well I’m going to relax but the KY should help if I can’t. Okay?”

* * *

Disappointment didn’t quite cover what Dean felt when Sam ordered him to get off of him. In fact, he felt almost the same as when his father would look at him in a certain way, and Dean could see it in his eyes, knew he’d disappointed or angered him, and knew he would be beaten severely for it. Except this felt almost worse, because more than fear, he felt… hurt. On this inside, something he thought he was long immune from, and he hated the feeling. Physical pain he knew how to deal with. Not this.

Looking away as he climbed off the younger man and Sam got up, Dean felt his heart clench. Angry at himself, and angry at Sam at the same time. Because even if he didn’t think Sam would actually _beat_ him over this, the younger man was certainly punishing him and didn’t understand why. Sam was seriously overreacting. If he didn’t want Dean to fuck him, all he had to do was say so. He said he wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want. They could still do other things. What they’d done before. Sam didn’t have to run away from him like this… leave him…

Dean wasn’t looking, wasn’t even listening really, to whatever Sam was doing, so he was a little surprised when he felt the mattress dip beside him. Looking up a little startled at the younger man when Sam placed the tube in his hand.

Guilt hit him then, at the same time he felt relieved and infinite affection towards Sam and it was a strange combination of feelings he’d never quite felt before. Now who was the one overreacting? He chastised himself, even as he mirrored Sam’s touch to his cheek and kissed the younger man tenderly. Trying to ease the other man’s admitted fears.

“I’ll help you.” He whispered softly in between tasting Sam’s lips, gently easing the younger man back down to the mattress slowly, never breaking the kiss. He didn’t stop kissing and touching the younger man slowly and deeply, running his fingertips lightly up and down his body, until he felt Sam’s body start to relax a little under his hands.

“I’m going to make you feel so good.” Dean promised again as he started to work his way, brushing his lips, down Sam’s body. His hands preceding his mouth as he ran his palms down the younger man’s chest, paying special attention to Sam’s nipples with his lips and tongue while his hands slid around to caress his back, buttocks, and thighs. Working his way carefully back down to where he’d been. Satisfied to see that Sam was still hard as he teased his tongue along that hot length of flesh, sucking at his tip while he fondled the younger man’s balls. Swearing to himself he’d go as slow as he had to. Spend hours if he had to teasing and opening up Sam’s body for him, and he wouldn’t go any further until the younger man was begging for his cock.

Looking up at the younger man with lust filled eyes he gently eased Sam’s knees up, exposing the younger man to him once more and Dean groaned in pleasure. Pressing a gentle kiss to the younger man’s inner thigh as he carefully parted Sam’s cheeks. Licking his lips before he touched his tongue once more to the younger man’s hot quivering hole with an almost exaggerated slowness. Licking around the tender puckered flesh, teasing Sam with the barest touches, for a small eternity before he allowed his tongue to probe deeper.

* * *

Sam couldn’t ever recall being treated so…preciously. Dean kissed him as if he loved Sam more than anything. The way he kissed him so gently, treated him so gingerly. Dean’s hands caressed him lightly everywhere. Unlike before when Sam had only felt hot flames where Dean touched him, now it was soothing warmth. The younger man wasn’t sure that he had ever shown Jessica as much love as Dean showed him now. He couldn’t help but relax under Dean’s touch, kissing him back as tenderly as Dean kissed him.

It was still hard for him to believe that breaching him in the way Dean intended would feel good, no matter what the man said. The soft kisses Dean rained down on him made Sam realize it didn’t matter how much it might hurt or embarrass him. Dean wanted this so very badly, Sam began to want it too. He wanted to give this gift to Dean. Even if this were the only time he ever worked up the nerve to do it, he would gladly do it now. He knew too, that if he didn’t enjoy it, the next time Dean wanted it he could tell Dean “no” and Dean would forgive him because at least he had tried.

Although his arousal had begun to fade, Dean’s determined attention on Sam nipples quickly had him moaning and his cock hardening. That wet mouth sucking, that strong tongue circling drove his own hands to rub his lover’s back more intently and his fingers drifted up to run through Dean’s still sweat soaked hair. Between the caresses and that sinful mouth, electricity began to spark within him. Dean was giving him absolutely everything he had to give making Sam sighed with contentment. Dean was his and he was Dean’s, even if only for this moment in time.

When Dean reached his firm cock and licked and sucked it as his fingers massaged his sack Sam groaned louder making sounds every time Dean sucked on him and toyed with his slit. Sam enjoyed watching the elder man’s obviously pleasure in the acts and hearing the way Dean moaned, those noises heightening his own pleasure. It felt so very good, and his member grew that much harder under Dean’s ministrations. The man’s promising touches on his sack occasionally drifted a bit down his crack, toward the hole that Dean so wanted to invade. The unadulterated hungry look on Dean’s face made Sam firmer still. He saw that almost feral look return to the elder man’s face that made him so hot with the desire to be possessed.

Sam let Dean return him to the position he was in when he had…freaked out. Dean’s soft groan brought a smile to Sam’s lips. Dean was obviously as aroused by the sight as Sam would be at seeing Jessica’s hot and ready pussy waiting and begging to be licked and nuzzled. He jumped only a little this time as Dean spread him wide and tongued his hole. He tried to make himself relax and Dean’s slow and careful efforts and continual reassuring touches helped until he closed his eyes and admittedly began to enjoy the hot muscular nub investigating his ass. When Dean pushed a bit deeper with his tongue Sam felt a little shiver go through him. He clenched a little, but this time it was matched by a pleasure filled moan. It felt good. It felt damned good and he relaxed again, surprised to find he wanted more.

“Deeper,” Sam moaned as Dean teased his hole.

* * *

Dean easily felt when Sam started to truly accept the invasion of his tongue. The way Sam’s body relaxed and hearing the soft moan of pleasure his efforts pulled from the younger man made Dean’s cock twitch and he moaned in turn. Eagerly he gave Sam what he’d asked for, letting his tongue play around the outside of that tight ring of flesh, teasing Sam until he felt it relax, and then pushing his tongue deeper. Moaning as he licked and fucked the younger man with his tongue, pulling it out to tease again before plunging deep into Sam’s heat again.

He played with the younger man that way until he had to grip Sam’s thighs almost tight enough to leave bruises to keep him from squirming too much. Even though he loved the way Sam pushed up against his face, eager for his tongue, Dean drew way. Licking up the length of the younger man’s leaking cock and lapping up the trail of come that had pooled on Sam’s stomach.

Dean planted one last kiss to the swollen tip before he sat up on his knees between the younger man’s knees. Letting Sam see everything he was doing so he wouldn’t be startled, he picked up the tube of lube, opened it, and squeezed out a generous amount onto his fingers. Warming it between his hands before he reached down to grasp the younger man’s cock.

“Easy. Just relax.” Dean encouraged as he stroked up and down the heavy length of flesh with his slick fingers to help distract Sam from the discomfort of being breeched for the first time as his other hand slid down between his soft cheeks. Spreading the lube liberally around the outside of the younger man’s hole, teasing Sam on the outside as he had with his tongue, before gently easing one slick finger slowly inside of him.

* * *

Sam couldn’t believe the way Dean’s tongue sent ripple after ripple of electricity through him. It was hard to relax, his asshole puckering at the tasting and teasing heat of Dean’s tongue. When he finally really got use to the sensations his tension eased and, as if Dean sensed it, Dean drove his tongue in deeper. Sam’s cock jumped at the deeper intrusion and he could feel the pre-come leaking from his slit. Dean’s tongue nudged and licked and plunged and pulled out until Sam began to gasp and pant. Holy fuck. Was this what fellagio was like for women? He couldn’t help but writhe under Dean’s skillful workings, unintentionally pushing his ass against Dean, wanting more.

And then the tongue was gone. “Fuck, Dean…Jesus, don’t stop…” he panted. He wriggled, his ass searching to a return of the new sensations he was enjoying.

That mouth that had been driving Sam nuts went to his cock and Sam couldn’t stop the loud moan from escaping him. He was so freaking hard it hurt. Dean’s tongue running over the warm liquid on his stomach had Sam thrashing, his body on overload from the stimulation. The pleasure was reaching the pain threshold. Dean kissed the end of his cock and Sam managed to catch his breath but he felt like his eyes were crossing as all his sensitive areas sent out little shocks of demand, wanting attention. Occasional shivers washed over him.

He watched as Dean dug into the KY lube. Trepidation still filled him, even though the tonguing had reached beyond any of his expectations. Which wasn’t hard since he didn’t think it was going to be anything even approaching enjoyable. At best he figured indifference on his part would be the result. It wasn’t quite as worthy as a good blow job, but it sure as hell wasn’t bad.

Sam eyed Dean somewhat cautiously as Dean warmed up the lube. Was this where Dean worked his dick into Sam’s ass? A tongue was one thing but Dean’s cock was as big as his own! He threw his head back making unintelligible noises of pleasure when Dean began running those lubed fingers up and down his shaft. With that sudden explosion of pleasure Dean could have rammed a baseball bat up his ass at that moment and he didn’t think he would even notice. He barely noticed the finger that slathered lube around his hole.

The start of the entry of Dean’s slick finger tickled his attention and he felt Dean slowly force that finger into the sphincter. It hurt a little, it burned a little, but once it was past the sphincter and inside of him the burning eased and the pain was outweighed by the way it felt better than he could have imagined. He wriggled, making the finger go deeper. He liked it, he decided, once he began to get used to it being there, though those thoughts were more just feelings washing through him as Dean continued to stroke him and occasionally bend down and suck on his crown.

When Dean began to work his finger in and out of Sam’s hole, surely simulating what he planned to do with his cock once it was in Sam, Sam tightened a little around Dean’s finger. He wasn’t sure if he did it because he didn’t want that finger to leave or if it was just carnal desire driving him to do it out of instinct. Dean watched him lustfully and he suddenly felt a second finger slide into him. He inhaled a little. Again the pain, again the burn, and this time a little stronger, but while Dean continued to stroke him and pump those fingers in and out of his ass, the pain was easily disappearing into the pleasure.

* * *

Dean smiled, pleased at the way Sam was accepting him inside of his body. Easier than Dean had been expecting. Soon he was pushing a second slick finger past the younger man’s tight ring of muscles into the exquisite heat of his body. Of course he made sure to keep up his attention to Sam’s cock. Stroking the younger man’s flesh just enough to keep him highly aroused without pushing him over the edge. Not wanting Sam to come again until Dean had at least three fingers inside of him, or better yet, his cock, wanting the younger man to equate that pleasure to the internal stimulation.

Maybe that was a little manipulative, but Dean desperately wanted Sam to enjoy what he was about to do. Enough that the younger man would let him do it again, if they ever had the opportunity. Chances were they probably wouldn’t, and if that was the case, he still wanted this to be as pleasurable as an experience as he could make it for Sam.

As Dean slowly fucked the younger man with his fingers, circling and spreading them a little inside to help relax the tight muscles, the elder man’s cock ached just imagining the feel of Sam’s tight heat wrapped around him. It was near torture, but if there was one thing Dean was used to, besides torture, it was denying his own desires while he gave pleasure to others. Though admittedly he’d never taken as much enjoyment doing so as he did now. Just watching Sam lost in the throes of passion, his face flushed, his strong muscular body damp with a sheen sweat, squirming and moaning every time Dean touched him.

“So damn beautiful…” Dean groaned when he felt the younger man’s inner muscles tighten around his fingers. Smiling as he stroked Sam a little bit deeper inside, curling his fingers just right in reward. Giving the younger man a little taste of the intense pleasure Dean was prepared to give him once his cock was deep inside of him.

“You like that, Sammy?” The elder man asked as he drew his fingers out just a little, picking up the tube again and squeezing a bit more onto his fingers inside Sam’s tight hole. Pushing the extra lube along with a third finger back inside of the younger man and rubbing them again against that tight bundle of nerves to ease the burn he knew Sam would feel being stretched so wide for the first time.

* * *

If Sam had anything approaching a coherent thought, he would probably be hysterically laughing at himself. He was completely freaked at the thought of Dean’s cock entering him while at the same time he was beginning to enjoy this whole anal sex thing. He was being fucked front and rear and he was writhing around like this was the best god-damned sex he had ever had. And maybe it was. No doubt the first orgasm contributed to his heightened sensitivity, but even so, it didn’t change that it was good. Dean’s lubed hand stroking him kept him hard but hadn’t pushed him far enough to let him come. He was really beginning to hate, while at the same time love, Dean’s tendency to go slowly. It was exquisite torture.

He felt the two fingers scissoring and his sphincter rebelled a little at being stretched in that way. Even amid the pleasure, it was uncomfortable. He clenched down a little wanting Dean to just keep finger fucking him. When Dean’s fingers curled inside him, his breath hitched at the shiver driven through him. His eyes widened. That was positively evil.

Any effort to respond to the elder man was lost in his soft keen as the shiver shook him. When he felt the third finger breach him, he winced a little and squirmed. The wriggle only stimulated his needy cock. His hand went to Dean’s shoulder and he squeezed his eyes tight, caught between the pain and pleasure. If he was going to have three fingers in him, he would rather just go all the way.

“Do it,” Sam gasped. “In me. Now.”

* * *

Dean had barely pushed his fingers all the way into the younger man when Sam asked, more like demanded, that he ‘do it’ and while there was nothing he wanted more than to feel that exquisite tight heat wrapped around his cock he hesitated. Sam was still so damn tight around his fingers as they thrust slowly in and out of him. Even though he’d relaxed enough to take them Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to replace them with his dick without causing the younger man a lot of discomfort. The elder man knew there couldn’t be a complete absence of pain the first time, but he’d hoped to minimize it as much as possible. At the same time, he didn’t know how much longer Sam, or himself for that matter, was going to be able to wait.

Coming to a decision Dean nodded and carefully withdrew his fingers, letting go of Sam’s cock with one final stroke as he picked up the tube of lube once again. Giving them both time to relax and come back a little from the intensity of his pleasure, he took his time spreading the slick substance all over his cock, groaning and letting his head fall back as he stroked himself slowly, letting Sam watch.

Unable to wait any longer Dean grabbed one of the blankets they’d tossed aside earlier and bunched it up, urging Sam to lift up a little, he put it underneath the younger man’s back. He knew it probably would have been easier if he had Sam roll over onto his stomach or on his hands and knees, but he wanted to be able to see the younger man’s face and he had a feeling Sam wanted that too.

“Hold your knees.” Dean ordered gently after he pushed the younger man’s legs up into position, taking a moment to savor the sight of Sam so exposed and ready for him, running his hands possessively along the younger man’s thighs as he positioned himself between them. The head of his cock nudging lightly at Sam’s slick hole.

“Relax. Don’t fight it or clench up, it will just make it uncomfortable for both of us.” He said, running his hands reassuringly over Sam’s beautiful body again before he steadied himself. Never looking away from Sam’s eyes as he slowly began to push inside.

* * *

He opened his eyes when he felt Dean’s fingers leave him and let go of his impossibly hard member. He wasn’t surely if it was relief or agony that made him tremble. He saw that Dean was preparing himself to do just what Sam asked. Sam licked his lips as he watched Dean smear the lube up and down his own cock—his impossibly large, swollen, ready, huge cock that he was going to stick up Sam’s virgin ass. Sam was torn between feeling anxious and the unbelievable turn-on he was getting watching Dean stroke himself. He wondered briefly when he had crossed the line over into perversion in that such a thing utterly and completely aroused him when a few days ago he would have turned away in disgust. But it was Dean. His Dean that he was watching, and that made it feel right, perverted or not. He had done this to Dean and the thought that Dean had gotten so off on getting Sam off thrilled him.

Sam watched him curiously when Dean grabbed a blanket suddenly and wadded it up. Sam lifted up as Dean told him to, not really sure why this was needed, but trusting Dean to know best. His arousal was so heavy and painful at this point, he hoped Dean didn’t go the slow route again. He wanted…yeah, he wanted Dean in him. That was just a freaking weird thought, but it was undeniable. He wanted to feel Dean’s cock not just rub against him, but rub inside him just as Dean’s fingers had done. He knew he was a virgin as far as this went and he knew a virgin’s first time always hurt. At least for women it did and after having Dean’s fingers titillate his hole, he figured he wouldn’t be any different. Okay, so Dean’s cock was big. Really fucking big. If he relaxed it wouldn’t be nearly so uncomfortable. And if Dean’s fingers did such evil delicious things to him, he hoped Dean’s cock would do much much more.

Holding his knees he knew he should feel ridiculous or embarrassed but all he felt was anticipation. He felt Dean press up against his hole and heard Dean’s concerned words. No matter what, he would force himself to relax. Dean’s hands caressing him helped him cling to that thought. His hazel eyes stayed locked with Dean’s impossibly beautiful, lust-filled eyes and he knew the same lust was in his own.

He winced a little as Dean’s cock slowly entered him, stretching him impossibly wide. The burn was intense. He was suddenly glad Dean was going slowly. As much as he wanted Dean to just god-damned be inside him now, it burned like a son-of-bitch. Sam inhaled slowly trying to stay relaxed and meeting with some measure of success as Dean’s fullness pushed deeper. He felt an almost exhilarated triumph when Dean’s crown pass his sphincter and enter him. It was a really odd feeling, it was uncomfortable, but he just kept telling himself that Dean promised it would feel good. He nodded a little to Dean, urging him on. His hand drifted down to his own cock, wanting the stimulus to help distract him from the burning stretch, afraid he would start to tense otherwise. When he touched himself he groaned, embracing the mix of unbelievable pleasure and pain.

* * *

Fuck, he hadn’t expected it to be like this. To feel this good. Dean didn’t top often. Demons tended to get off on doing the fucking, not the other way around, but the few times he had topped he had enjoyed it immensely. Still, it had never felt quite like this. Sam’s virgin body gripped him as tight as vice despite the fact that he knew the younger man had remained mostly relaxed as Dean slowly pushed inside of him. Despite the fact that he’d used a generous amount of lube both inside the younger man and on his cock, Sam clung to him, all heat and velvet softness and it was absolutely incredible.

It was all Dean could do to hold back, not to simply plunge hard and deep into Sam in his eagerness to be inside of him. His muscles trembling slightly from the strain, but he did hold himself back. Unwilling to cause the younger man undue pain. Swearing he would go as slow as he needed to, take as long as he needed to fill Sam up inch by inch. He wanted this to be perfect. For both of them.

“That’s good. You’re doing good.” Dean encouraged as he ran his hands lovingly along the younger man’s sweat slicked thighs. Pushing just a little deeper and sighing softly when he felt the head of his shaft push past tight constricting muscles, knowing it would be much easier for them both from then on. Groaning softly as he watched the younger man’s fingers slide up and down his own cock, playing with himself and Dean used the distraction to slide a little more deeply into Sam.

“You feel so good. I’m almost there. You look so damn beautiful like this, taking my cock. I’m going to make you feel so good.” Dean kept up his whispered reassurances and promises, easing himself smoothly into Sam until he was finally seated balls deep into the younger man’s ass. With a groan he leaned forward, licking his way past Sam’s lips, giving the younger man a heated kiss while he waited a few moments for the other man to adjust to him.

Finally unable to hold back any longer Dean pulled away from the younger man’s lips with a moan. Gripping Sam’s hips he eased out of the other man’s body a fraction and pushed back in carefully with a groan of pleasure. Drawing out a little more the next time, his next thrust in not quite as slow, and angling his hips to make sure his cock rubbed across the other man’s prostate.

* * *

Stroking himself it was easier to embrace the shivers of pleasure coming from his cock than to acknowledge the harsh burn of Dean’s member feeling like it was going to split him in two. He knew Dean was going slowly, carefully, letting him get used to the feel of the fullness and he was grateful beyond measure.

Beautiful. He had never been called that by anyone but to hear Dean say it, it made him feel…special. Dean’s words helped him to stay relaxed, helped him to accept the discomfort. He wanted Dean to enjoy this even if it hurt him like a bitch. He felt Dean’s sack pressed up against his skin and that sent a dizzying wave of pleasure and relief through him. All of Dean was inside him now. He wondered if he was supposed to do something now to give Dean the most pleasure. He was stretched so wide he was certain if he clenched down it would probably be painful for the both of them. Dean had told him not to clench…

His thoughts were disrupted when Dean leaned in close and kissed him, Sam’s mouth opening immediately when Dean’s tongue tickled his lips. He took Dean’s tongue into his mouth and sucked on it, remember how good it felt when Dean had done the same for him. The kiss Dean gave him was hot and full of fire and for a moment Sam could almost forget Dean was fully buried inside him. He matched Dean’s moan when Dean broke that delicious kiss.

Dean’s callused hands held his hips and Sam felt Dean slowly begin to pull out. That wasn’t it was it? All that fuss just to get inside to pull out? Dean answered that by pushing himself back in, his sounds of pleasure making Sam smile. Well, of course that wasn’t it, Sam chastised himself. He was being stupid, his brain just lost in the sensations. Dean was going to fuck him, ride him, and he promised Sam it would feel so good for Sam. Sam didn’t care so long as it was good for Dean. When Dean pulled out a little more, Sam was still trying to figure out when all these great feelings were going to start. Dean thrust back inside of him a little more sharply.

That was when his brain short-circuited.

His eyes widened as a loud moan escaped him, and if he hadn’t involuntarily squeezed his own dick, he probably would have blown his wad.

“Holy fuck…” Sam groaned.

Men had a sweet spot. How was he as old as he was and didn’t know that? Because he had never ever remotely considered he wanted to be fucked by a man and while he had one gay friend, they never talked sex.

When Dean pulled out a little further yet and then plunged back in, his face one of beautiful ecstasy, Sam held his own cock tightly in anticipation of that sweet spot. He didn’t want to come yet, not until Dean was ready. It was killing him, but he wanted to wait. The sweet spot reverberated such pleasure that he didn’t care about the stretching or burning anymore. Dean began to pick up the pace and Sam couldn’t help but to start pushing back, driving Dean deeper if that were possible. He had never felt anything like this. Ever.

* * *

Dean couldn’t help but grin in satisfaction, Sam’s reaction to his dick rubbing against his prostate even better than he could have hoped for.

“Like that?” The elder man asked, chuckling warmly. Not really expecting an answer as he started an easy slow pace thrusting in and out of the younger man’s body gently, always making sure to hit that sweet bundle of nerves deep inside the other man every time he filled him.

It was perfect… so damn good… better than anything he’d ever felt in his life. He’d never fucked a complete virgin before, and the tightness around his cock was absolutely exquisite. But it was more than that. It was Sam. The beautiful boy who’d given him so much comfort during his life, and now gave him the ultimate pleasure.

Dean loved the beautiful expression of ecstasy on the younger man’s face. The way Sam’s breath hitched and his muscles tightened a little in anticipation every time Dean drove in. The way the younger man’s body clung to him as he pulled out, and then relaxed again to allow him back inside.

Dean groaned softly when the younger man began to push back against him, lifting his ass to allow him even deeper, and the elder man eagerly gave in to the silent plea, drawing his dick out almost completely before filling Sam up again with a quick thrust of his hips. Dean readjusted the younger man’s legs up over his shoulders as he picked up a faster pace, fucking the younger man deep and hard now that Sam’s body had adjusted to his cock filling him up.

“Sam… fuck… Sam…” The elder man moaned practically in pain, ignoring the way his body and various wounds protested the exertion he was now putting himself through because he didn’t give a damn about any of it. Just this, him and Sam, sharing this pleasure. So good. So damn good. As much as he wanted it to last Dean knew he was close from all the foreplay he’d done just to get them to this point, but at least he could feel Sam was right there with him. The way the younger man’s body trembled, the near constant moans of pleasure spilling from his lips.

“Don’t hold back.” Dean whispered, leaning in and kissing the younger man again as he pulled Sam’s hand away from his cock and replaced it with his own, stroking the younger man hard and sure in time with his thrusts. Groaning loud into his lover’s mouth as he buried himself as deeply as he could into Sam’s willing body. His cock pulsing and filling the younger man’s up with his thick hot seed.

* * *

Dean could have done anything to him at that point. Absolutely anything and he wouldn't have cared. It felt good beyond belief. Sam hardly noticed when Dean moved his legs. All he noticed was that Dean was steadily pumping, steadily increasing his pace and each time Dean pulled out he wanted to whimper at the emptiness and every time Dean filled him and rubbed that so sweet spot he saw stars. It was perfect, it was so god-damned perfect. The boy he had always cried for with no way to ease his pain he was finally able to give him pleasure. Maybe not the ultimate pleasure but one look at Dean's face told him it came pretty damned close, and he knew the same look was on his own and in his eyes.

The constant tapping of his prostate had him in throes. It burned, it set him on fire and it crossed over into such agonizing pleasure he could only murmur Dean's name over and over amid his sounds of ecstasy. When Dean pulled Sam's hand free of his own cock and took hold of it himself, beginning to pump and stroke in time with the fucking, Sam thought he was going to die from the overload. Dean's lips plastered themselves over Sam's and Sam wrapped his arms around Dean. Groaning, Dean thrust his tongue into Sam's mouth. Tongue fucked, hand fucked and butt fucked. Yes, there was no doubt. He was going to die from the sensations all raging away inside him.

Dean groaned loudly, shoving in deep and Sam felt his own balls react as he felt Dean coming. He screamed Dean's name into Dean's mouth as he came with Dean. If he thought he had come hard before, he didn't know what hard was. Arching, burying Dean as deeply as his shaft could possibly go, his cock fired stream after stream onto his and Dean's stomach and chest. He felt Dean's own come dribble out of his ass. He slid his legs off of Dean's shoulders as his cock throbbed and pulsed, fire running along his nerves and he moaned with each wave. Dean collapsed on top of him and he could feel Dean's cock continue to jerk and pulse, shaking Dean's body as Dean groaned with each pulse of his own. When Dean stirred after a few minutes and began to slowly pull out, Sam wrapped his legs around Dean's waist, locking his ankles.

"Don't you dare," Sam whispered into his ear and pulled Dean closer with his legs, pulling him fully back into him.

He ran his fingers through his own sweat and come, licked them clean, and gently, slowly kissed Dean. He shut his eyes, his lips still locked with Dean's, and felt himself begin to drift off into sleep.

* * *

Dean greedily swallowed down every sound of pleasure Sam made, moaning himself into the younger man's mouth feeling the hot splash of the younger man's come between them. Feeling Sam's already impossibly tight muscles around his cock constrict around him even more, making him jerk and groan in pleasure bordering on pain. It was almost too much, as they continued to move together, rubbing Sam's spent cock between them as he continued to thrust shallowly into that perfect body as wave after wave of aftershocks washed over them.

Finally stilling and he collapsed heavily on top of the younger man, panting against Sam's sweat slick skin as his body continued to shudder. He wasn't sure how long they laid locked together like that before Dean finally found the strength to move again. Beginning to ease himself out of Sam's body, he was surprised however when the younger man wrapped his legs tightly around his waist and pulled him back in. Surprised, but definitely not in a bad way.

Dean let himself relax comfortably, moaning deeply when Sam kissed him and he eagerly licked the taste of the younger man's come from every corner of his mouth. Savoring Sam's exquisite flavor before he gently broke their kiss. Smiling tenderly down at the younger man, when it seemed Sam was falling asleep, feeling quite pleased with himself having apparently fucked Sam into exhaustion.

Chucking softly he kissed the younger man's lips gently remaining locked together intimately for a long time, and fighting off his own exhaustion. Savoring the moment greedily for as long as possible until he finally eased his softened member out of Sam gently. Knowing the younger man was going to be sore as hell anyway and not wanting to add to that.

Rolling to his side Dean pulled the sleeping young man gently against his chest, not giving a flying fuck what a mess they both were covered in sweat and come. Grabbing a blanket he covered them both up with it and settled down next to the younger man. His arms wrapped tightly around Sam, Dean let himself drift off as well, sure he'd sleep better now than he ever had in his life.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam blinked his eyes sleepily when the sound of his phone ringing penetrated his exhausted haze. He laid there a moment, feeling Dean's arms holding him tightly, even in sleep. He didn't want to leave Dean's arms and then he felt his heart drop into his stomach. That was Jim calling. And if didn't get to the phone, Jim was going to freak.  


  
Sam carefully disentangled himself from Dean's warm embrace, pausing to stare a moment at the chains, frowning. Nothing he could about it, not yet, he told himself. Dean mumbled his complaint and reached out for Sam. "Shh. I'm right here. Go back to sleep," Sam soothed.

He looked down at himself and back at Dean. They were both a fucking mess. Literally. And it was cold in the basement, the propane heater long since dry of fuel. Slowly he pushed himself up. Every movement he made he discovered a new ache. He was going to feel Dean for a good few days, that was for certain. Then he smiled a little. It was worth it and he would do it again without regret. Hell, he wanted to do it again next chance he got.

He brushed his lips lightly over Dean's, unsurprised to find Dean respond, but he stepped away before Dean could draw him back down into his arms. He wanted to slide back in to that safe embrace, but he couldn't. Reality had to be faced, at least for a little while. He covered Dean over with the blanket before he limped over to where his phone sat on the chair. It had already gone to voice mail. He opened his phone. Yeah, it had been Jim. He speed dialed the elder hunter. It hardly rung once and Jim was on the other end.

"Sam? Sam, are you okay?" Jim asked worriedly.

"I'm fine, Jim," Sam said through a yawn. "I was sleeping. Sorry. Took me a minute to get to the phone. You on your way over?"

"Yes. Bobby said you wanted me to call first."

"I'm starved. Can you stop and get me a steak with all the fixings? And a lot of coffee?"

Jim was silent a minute before he finally answered. "Yes. I'll stop and get it. Medium?"

"Yeah. Get one for Dean too. And maybe get some soup if they have it. He hasn't eaten much for a good couple days. I'm not sure he can tolerate a steak, so soup would be good if he can't. And we're out of propane. Can you pick up a couple bottles? This basement is on the cool side."

He heard Jim huff in annoyance. "Anything else?"

"How's Dad doing?" Sam asked, deflecting Jim's anger to a safer subject. He shivered, the chill air beginning to bite into his naked flesh. He grimaced at the dried come that coated him. The water was going to be freaking cold when he washed it off. He walked over and got his shirt, awkwardly holding the phone as he put it on. It helped a little.

"He's doing okay," Jim said. "Bobby called about an hour ago. John woke up and asked for you, though I guess he wasn't sure if you were really here or it was all just a nightmare."

Sadly, Sam wasn't sure it wasn't one really messed up nightmare himself. He glanced over at Dean. At least it wasn't all bad. "Okay. After I eat, I'll go to the motel and shower and then go in and relieve Bobby for awhile. How soon do you think you'll be here?"

"Steak, propane…Probably close to an hour. That okay? The monster behaving himself?"

"Dean is doing fine. We've been…doing some brotherly bonding."

"You didn't get within reach of him, did you?"

"Jim, do you think I'd get within reach of someone who wanted me dead?"

Jim snorted. "You think with your heart and not with your head, Samuel. That can make you do stupid things. It can make anyone do stupid things even if they don't mean to."

"I'm fine," Sam insisted.

"Then I'll see you in forty five minutes or so."

"Thanks, Jim. See you then." After ending the call, he gathered his clothes and walked gingerly toward the bathroom. Good God did he hurt.

Using his t-shirt, he cleaned himself free of the dried semen. It was freaking everywhere. His breath hissed with every swipe of the cold wet shirt. Satisfied he didn't stink of sex or have any apparent remnants of Dean's and his "bonding" time, he carefully pulled loose the semen soaked bandages on his chest. He cringed when he saw how many stitches he had pulled. He would just have the doctors fix it when he went in to see his dad. After carefully wiping around the nasty gashes, he pulled on his clothes, leaving his flannel shirt open so he could re-bandage his wounds, and headed out to the first aid kit.

With a start he realized Dean was watching him through hooded lids. He shifted his direction and walked over to Dean instead. Carefully he lowered himself down. He planted a kiss on Dean's lips before pulling away. Staring into those green eyes, he said with a satisfied smile, "Anyone ever tell you you're fucking amazing?"

* * *

Dean groaned softly in his sleep, the insistent buzzing of the cell phone having woken him as well, but he was still unwilling to let go of the younger man when Sam began to untangle himself. Trying to reach out and pull Sam back to him, not really thinking of the possible consequences if the younger man didn’t answer his phone, just knowing he didn’t want Sam to leave the cocoon of warmth they had created together.

He relented however with a sigh at the younger man’s reassurances. Smiling a little at the kiss he was given, laying back, but watching Sam through hooded eyelashes as he got up. Noticing how carefully the other man moved and damn if that didn’t just make him a little hot. Knowing Sam was so sore because he’d fucked the younger man so good.

Dean listened unashamedly to Sam’s conversation over the phone. Sighing a little, this time in disappointment, realizing that their time together was now about to come to an end. Forcing them out of the little bubble of pleasure and comfort they’d found with each other back into harsh reality. Much the same way it had always been when they were children. Barely ghosts to each other, the comfort they could offer one another in dreams never sustainable in the light of day.

He’d always fucking hated waking up. Now was no different.

Dean frowned a little however when the younger man asked the other hunter on the phone about John Winchester. The man Dean had tortured nearly to death, and Dean wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel or if he were supposed to feel anything. The hunter meant nothing to him. He was nothing but a pathetic meat sack his father had sent him to kill and Dean felt absolutely no guilt over what he’d done to the other man. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the man meant something to Sam, and there was the sticky issue, because even if the older hunter meant nothing to him, Sam did. As though that wasn’t an issue all in of itself they would one day have to deal with.

Dean remained silent when Sam glanced his way. Giving nothing away of his inner turmoil. Though he did snort softly at Sam’s comment about ‘brotherly bonding’. Oh yeah, they’d certainly bonded all right. However his smile slipped immediately off his face at Sam’s next words, about him wanting to kill Sam. Which wasn’t true, even before… everything. His mission had been to capture Sam Winchester alive after all. So his father could determine if the younger man’s powers had developed enough to take his place in his father’s army. So Sam could become like Dean…

The elder man swallowed back the feelings of disgust and fear welling up inside of him at the thought of Sam going through even a fraction of what Dean had suffered during his ‘training’. But what was there he could possibly do to prevent it? His father would have Sam eventually, one way or another. Whether Dean brought him before Azazel or another did. It was only a matter of time… and Sam, his Sam, would be taken away from him forever.

Dean was pulled out of his thoughts when Sam hung up his phone and he watched the younger man as Sam went to the bathroom. Watched as the younger man in the bathroom as he cleaned himself of the evidence of their lovemaking, feeling more than a bit of guilt when he watched the younger man remove the bandages on his chest. He hated seeing blood seeping from where the stitches on his chest had pulled free. He would have to be more careful with Sam… if there were a next time.

He opened his eyes when Sam came over to him, sighing softly at the gentle kiss he was given. Smiling at the younger man’s words as he ran his fingertips lightly down the younger man’s chest.

“Not really, no.” Dean answered, not that he hadn’t heard similar words from his sex partners before, but none of them had ever said it like Sam had. None of them he’d ever wanted to hear it from. He let his fingers continue to drift lower boldly. Lightly teasing over the younger man’s flaccid cock and balls through his jeans before reaching boldly between Sam’s legs. His fingers sliding between his cheeks to gently rub the denim over his used hole.

“How do you feel?”

* * *

Sam loved the feel of Dean’s light touch on his body and when Dean’s hand ran over his cock Sam was really glad Dean didn’t stop there and concentrate on it, because he couldn’t afford the luxury of making love again to Dean, not with Jim on his way. Dean’s hand rubbing his fingers along the seam of his denim, stopping right over that rather tender spot was bad enough.

“Like a virgin who had his brains fucked out,” Sam said, grinning. He sobered a little at Dean’s still oh so serious and worried look. “It hurts, but I’m okay. There’s no blood. You were careful. I’m sore, a little raw, that’s all.”

Sam drank in Dean’s naked body, unable to stop himself from returning Dean’s caress, running his hand along Dean’s side until he slid the flat of his palm over the elder man’s scarred chest, rubbing over Dean’s nipple, pausing just a moment, playing with it just a moment, before sliding his hand up along Dean’s neck. He cupped the side of Dean’s face with a gentle hand. Kissing Dean again, it took all his willpower not to shove his tongue into Dean’s mouth. He groaned and pulled away. God, Dean was so fucking beautiful.

“Sorry,” Sam said, looking away from Dean’s face. “We can’t get started again. We’d be interrupted and I’m sure they would think you bewitched me or something.”

Sam ran his fingers over the dried come on Dean’s stomach. It was his seed spilled there, dried there, and that was enough to make him get just a little bit hard. “We need to get you cleaned up before Jim gets here and change out your shoulder bandages. They got a little bit of me on them I think.” Sam laughed softly and turned his gaze to Dean’s leg wound, but he couldn’t resist letting his eyes rake over Dean’s cock and balls. He wanted it to be hard and pressed against him…

He shook his head. He was acting like a horny teenager. Of course, if he got Dean cleaned up and his bandages changed, he might be able to give Dean a quick blow job…and that made him just a little harder. Fuck.

He turned away from Dean and forced himself over to the bucket that has once held the ice that he had used to soothe away Dean’s fever. The rag was still in there and the water was definitely a little warmer than the ice water coming out of the tap. He squeezed the water out of the rag and hesitated. If he cleaned off Dean, he was going to be good and proper hard before he was through. He handed Dean the wet rag, knowing a flush was coming to his face. He pulled the bucket next to the elder man. “

I’ll get your bandages changed out while you clean up.” He gave Dean a hard look, but he couldn’t stop the fondness he knew was on his embarrassed face. “And please behave, at least until we get you presentable.”

* * *

Sam’s reply almost made a smile pull at his lips, if he wasn’t afraid that the younger man was making the joke just to cover up the pain, something Dean himself would have done. So when Sam answered him a little more honestly Dean nodded, relieved that there hadn’t been any tearing, sometimes there was no matter how careful. The soreness Sam felt was definitely normal, especially for a virgin, and would fade in time. It would also be much easier for the younger man the next time… if there were a next time.

Dean let out a pleasant sigh at the feeling of Sam’s hand running over his body. A light shiver of pleasure running through him as the younger man played with his tightening nipple that was still so sensitive from before. A small hope filling him that the ‘next time’ might not be as far away as he feared, as he lifted himself up a little, moaning softly at the kiss he was given. First in pleasure but then in disappointment when the younger man pulled away far too soon, apologizing.

_No, we wouldn’t want them to think that._ Dean thought a little bitterly, though he kept the expression of annoyance off his face at least. Though a part of him wasn’t quite sure if the opposite weren’t true. That Sam hadn’t bewitched _him_ in some way. He’d already seen the younger man use his powers unconsciously several times. How could he be sure Sam wasn’t doing so to him now, when he had no defense against it?

No. Dean knew that wasn’t true. He could blame his stupidity for letting his feelings rule him on many things, but not that. Not that Sam hasn’t bewitched him, but not like that, and it was entirely Dean’s fault for letting him. It was also completely his fault that he didn’t, couldn’t, bring himself to regret it. At least not now. Maybe one day soon he would. More than likely they both would regret it.

Dean laid still, letting Sam touch him however he liked, loving the way the younger man’s eyes lingered on every intimate part of him. He liked that his body pleased Sam. He knew he was attractive, even with the scars, and sometimes it was an advantage and other times a disadvantage. This time it wasn’t either, and he liked that.

He took the offered rag and nodded, though he smirked and a somewhat naughty look crossed Dean’s features when Sam told him to behave himself. He didn’t comment however, simply dragged the wet cloth down his chest and stomach, maybe a little slower than he had to. Scrubbing away the dried come on his skin there before moving between his legs, spreading them as wide as he could with his ankles bound as he ran the cloth along his inner thighs, and then up over his sack. Taking himself in hand through the cloth, never looking away from Sam’s eyes as he wiped himself down even as his dick began to harden a little despite the cold water.

* * *

Sam tried really hard to ignore the slow stroke of the rag across Dean’s chest and stomach while Sam worked on gently loosening the bandages from Dean’s shoulder where Sam himself had stabbed him. He pulled the bandages away slowly, his eyes drifting back to Dean scrubbing at his stomach. Oh, he was a bastard.

Sam shifted uncomfortably as he felt his dick get just a little heavier. Sam forced his eyes to the stitched up wound and the birthmark beneath the stitches. Dean hadn’t pulled any of the stitches. Good. Sam pushed himself up and away from Dean, retrieving fresh bandages and antibiotic ointment from the first aid kit. When he turned back around to face Dean, he’s knees went soft while his dick went hard. Dean was splayed open, legs as wide as he could get them, and he was beginning to slowly stroke himself, his eyes locked on Sam’s face. Sam shut his eyes and groaned.

“Dammit Dean,” Sam murmured. He forced himself to drag his eyes away and met Dean’s all too pleased gaze. Licking his lips, Sam found his eyes slipping back down to Dean’s cock. With an effort he said, “Let me get the bandages chained—changed out first!”

He forced himself back to Dean’s side, spread ointment over the wound and he groaned at the same time as Dean at the feel of the ointment. So much like the KY jelly. Fuck.

Focus, Sam scolded himself and quickly re-bandaged the wound. He moved to the other side of Dean and loosened the bandages from the gunshot wound. Dean rubbed up against him.

“Don’ t you know what ‘behave’ means?” Sam growled. When Sam pulled off the bandages he stared at the bleeding raw flesh. He had been so upset when he had bandaged Dean the night before, the nastiness of the wound hadn’t really sunk in. He felt tears sting his eyes. They had done this to him. Yes, he knew Jim had to shoot Dean or Dean would have killed him. Then the Demon carving into Dean’s flesh. He ran light fingers around the wound. He didn’t want Dean to hurt this way. This had to have been agony while they were making love. He just wished it was healed so Dean wouldn’t hurt from it anymore. Hadn’t Dean suffered enough under the tutelage of the demons? His anger began to rise up and mix with the sadness. It wasn’t fair! Why had they done these terrible things to Dean? Why did Dean have suffer everything that he had? He felt the rapidly growing familiar flare of … something… inside him. He didn’t want Dean to hurt anymore. This wound was the representation for Sam of every pain Dean had ever suffered.

Beneath Sam’s light touch, Dean’s wounded shoulder began to heal, closing up faster and faster as Sam stared. Suddenly, it was healed then. Not even a scar left. A bit of wet blood was still on Dean’s skin, the only remnant of the wound.

Sam backed away a few steps on shaky legs. He couldn’t deny it. He just couldn’t deny it any longer. It was him. He’d done it. He had …supernatural abilities. He wasn’t just Sam anymore. He was something… else. Something not quite human anymore.

He fell to his knees and began heaving his guts out.

* * *

Dean was well aware of the effect his little displays were having on Sam, and he loved every moment of it. From the way the younger man’s eyes kept drifting away from what he was doing to watch what Dean was doing instead, to the way the bulge in Sam’s jeans kept getting just a little more prominent as he worked. Though he raised an eyebrow at Sam’s little Freudian slip of the tongue, grinning. So the younger man got off on seeing him in chains? Maybe he should have found that a little disturbing but to be honest very little actually disturbed him now a days. The fact that Sam was even kinkier than he thought only amused him rather than upset him.

Unfortunately the mood changed drastically when the younger man removed the bandages off of his left shoulder. The one that the demon had dug open with a knife, Dean glancing down at it a little surprised to find it bleeding. He must have reopened the wound a bit during their fucking, not that he had been paying attention or would have even cared if he had been. Sure it hurt like a bitch, but he’d had much worse.

The absolutely devastated look on Sam’s face, actual tears in his eyes as he lightly touched around the angry wound, confused Dean greatly. He was absolutely fine but the younger man was looking at it like it was life threatening.

“Sam…” He said the other man’s name softly, trying to draw him out of that mood and back to where they’d been but it was like Sam didn’t even hear him. Just kept looking at it, kept touching it gently like he was trying to take away the pain through his touch alone. Then Dean felt the flare of power within the younger man and gasped sharply as Sam did exactly that. The wound healing underneath his touch right before their eyes and Dean could only stare at Sam in utter shock. He didn’t even have that kind of power. How…

Suddenly Sam was backing away from him, sadness no longer the predominant emotion on the younger man’s face but absolute horror. Dean barely managed to push himself up, as though to go after him, but of course the chains brought him up short. When the younger man suddenly began to vomit Dean’s stomach twisted as well but not in disgust but fear. Fear for Sam. What he might be thinking.

“Sam!” He shouted, the chains rattling as he fought instinctively against them in his attempts to get to Sam but of course it was utterly useless. Dean held out his hand towards the other man as far as the restraints would allow, repeating the younger man’s name over and over trying to get him to focus on him and not on whatever he was thinking that had caused this reaction. “Sam, please… please…”

_Come back to me. Don’t leave me._ His eyes begged silently as he reached out.

* * *

Sam threw up again and again until he had nothing left but dry heaves. His body was coated with sweat from the sheer violence of each convulsion. Sporadic waves of fear pulsed through him and he found himself dry heaving again. What was he? Dear God, what was he? This was why they were after him. Did they want to kill him? Capture him? Did his father have these powers too and never told Sam?

Dean had these powers. Bobby and Jim both said Dean had something in him that was …evil. At least he had something in him that reacted to Bobby’s magical concoction. Did Sam also have …?

Vaguely Sam heard his name called over and over as his mind churned with the thoughts and fears that kept him on his knees throwing up, vaguely heard the rattle of chains. He had to know. He had to know if what was in Dean was also…in him. He pushed himself up and ran up the stairs, barreling into Bobby’s workroom. His gaze swept over the things on the table, searching for the solution Bobby had made from the herbs. His gaze came to rest on amber liquid. Bobby’s whiskey. He stared at it a moment. That wasn’t what he was here for. But all he could taste in his mouth was vomit. His dad always said the drink sometimes helped him through bad times. If this didn’t classify as the worst most fucked up days he had ever had, then nothing did. Grabbing the bottle and twisting the lid free, he took a long draught of the fiery drink, feeling the burn slide down his throat and into his stomach. Hell, he’d probably throw it up too, but he didn’t care and took another long drink. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He was here for a reason. To find out.

Setting the bottle back onto the table he pawed through the scattered things until he found a small vial of blood. Dean’s likely enough. A large bottle filled with the smoky herbal solution sat on the end of the table. His hands shaking, Sam poured a little into a beaker, then put of few drops of Dean’s blood into it. Immediately the liquids roiled and the blood droplets broke apart into a fine mist peppering the solution, each tiny droplet now hissing and racing about in the solution as if it were alive. Sam’s eyes fell onto the scalpel that Bobby had been using to carefully cut up the herbs. It would do. Gripping the scalpel tightly, Sam sliced a gash into his arm just back from his wrist and held it over the solution.

When his blood and the solution came into contact with each other, the reaction was more than just strong. It was violent. The solution and blood practically warred with one another, foaming and hissing. Sam jumped when a crack resounded in the room and the beaker broken into several pieces. Sam shrank away from it, staring at the pieces of the beaker and the still burbling reaction between the solution and his own blood. He felt his back hit the door frame and he shook his head still trying to deny it. Just as with Dean’s healed shoulder, he couldn’t. The damning evidence continued to foam on the table in front of him. He heard an agonizing cry from the basement, a cry that was his name. Dean…

Sam simply dropped the scalpel where he stood, a trail of blood dripping from his arm as he slowly walked back to the basement and descended the steps, his head bowed. When he reached Dean he collapsed to his knees, clutching at the elder man as silent tears streamed down his face. He felt his brother’s strong arms embrace him protectively and he hugged Dean back.

“What am I?” Sam whispered, trembling, terrified of the answer.

* * *

Dean wasn’t used to feeling fear like this. It was an emotion he couldn’t afford, like so many others. He’d learned how to shove it aside. Push it down. Ignore it. Fear was a human emotion. A human weakness. That didn’t mean he was never afraid. Hardly. But like pain, he’d been taught how not to acknowledge it in order to survive. But Dean wasn’t used to feeling fear for others rather than himself. He’d never… cared… for anyone enough to feel fear for them. Like he did now for Sam…

And he was helpless, absolutely helpless, to do anything about it.

The other man simply didn’t hear him. No matter how many time, or how loudly Dean shouted Sam’s name, the younger man didn’t look at him. He simply remained, hunched over, heaving until there was nothing left inside of him but he continued to shake and convulse with sickness.

“Sammy…” He pleaded unashamed, and Dean had stopped begging anyone for anything a long time ago. He didn’t beg for mercy. He didn’t beg for forgiveness. He didn’t beg for an end to the pain. But he begged Sam now, and Sam didn’t hear him. Didn’t see him. Just when he hoped that Sam might, instead the younger man ran away from him.

“SAM!” Dean screamed the younger man’s name but the only reply he got was the echo of his own voice in the basement and Dean dropped to his knees again as a rush of hopeless anger washed over him. Striking his fists over and over against the cold concrete floor until they were split open and bloody, needing some outlet, any for the feelings churning inside of him he didn’t understand. The harsh smell of bile not far away turning his own stomach as he screamed in hopeless rage, but not because of the smell itself because what it symbolized.

Why? Why was the younger man doing this? Reacting this way? Just because Sam had finally realized what he had been doing, what power he had, by healing Dean? It had been an accident, just like everything else Dean had seen the younger man do. Things Sam had refused to see or acknowledge, but what he’d done to Dean’s shoulder was simply too big to ignore any longer. And Sam was disgusted by that power, he was repulsed by it… that same power Dean had…

Did that mean on some deep level Sam was also repulsed by him? Perhaps he wasn’t even consciously aware of it. Perhaps that too he’d refused to acknowledge. It was easy to ignore, just as Sam had ignored his own gifts, while his powers were bound by magic and he was bound in chains. But sooner or later he would have to face it, just like he now had to face his own powers. What did that mean for him? For them? Perhaps Dean was an even greater fool than he thought.

Dean didn’t even realize he was still shouting Sam’s name pathetically begging for the younger man to come back for him until he heard the sound of footsteps slowly descending the stairs and he looked up. He probably would have laughed at or cursed himself if he could have seen the hope in his eyes when he saw the younger man, but Sam didn’t even look at him and that little hope plummeted in his chest like a rock. What now? Now that Sam knew, and was repulsed, by the power inside him, the same power in Dean. What now? Instead of healing him would Sam hurt him? Just like Sam had hurt him when he’d been tied to that chair. Instead of… loving… him would Sam kill him?

Dean knelt there on the mattress, silent now as he watched the younger man approach him. Unconsciously holding his breath. Waiting. When Sam dropped down and put his arms around him it took the elder man a few moments to realize that it wasn’t so that he could choke the life out of him. Another moment to realized he didn’t think he would have stopped Sam if that were the case. Then his arms wrapped instinctively around the other man’s shaking body, clinging to him just as tightly as Sam clung to him.

The question… wasn’t unexpected… but Dean still had no answer. So many ways he could answer. He could tell the younger man that Sam was like him, one of Azazel’s children. He could tell him he had demon blood inside of him, just like Dean did. He could tell Sam he was gifted, better than other humans. He could commit the ultimate betrayal to his father by telling Sam everything, telling Sam his father’s plans for him. Why Dean had been sent to murder those other hunters, John Winchester, and to kidnap Sam.

Or he could lie and tell Sam he didn’t know…

“You’re my brother.” Dean finally whispered. The only truth he could offer Sam right now.

* * *

Sam felt his breath hitch. Dean accepted they were brothers. But did he accept it because Sam had powers just like him? Or had he accepted it long before that? And if he accepted it, wasn’t it just a little weird that Dean wanted to fuck him? They were brothers and brothers didn’t fuck each other. Not in any sane world. But Sam wasn’t really sure he was sane anymore anyhow. So what did that make him? He knew they were brothers and he wanted Dean to fuck him. Maybe it was whatever was in him, in them both. Maybe that twisted up everything. Maybe it made them both want something that just wasn’t natural. Made them feel it was okay and that it was right.

He wasn’t human. That’s what Bobby and Jim had said of Dean. He was a monster. A thing. What would they think when they discovered Sam was just like Dean? Maybe…maybe his dad was too. Maybe they already knew about it.

No. If they did then they wouldn’t be calling Dean the things they called him. They wouldn’t be experimenting on Dean and almost kill him in the process.

Sam couldn’t very well ask his father. If his dad wasn’t the source of their power, telling his dad he had powers too might throw his father back into cardiac arrest. He could heal Dean though. What if he could heal his father? He didn’t know how the damned thing worked to even try. He had no idea how to call those powers forth, and he wasn’t even sure he should. They were what made Dean evil, right? If Dean was so evil, then why was he holding Sam to him, comforting him?

It was time, he decided. It was time to find out if Dean was just fucking with his head. If he died because he trusted the scorpion, then he died. He wasn’t sure he wanted to live, not if he had powers. He tried to deny it as he had denied everything else, but the blood in his veins was demonic. That’s what Bobby’s magic bags were for. Binding a demon’s powers. Dean had demon in him. Sam knew now that he did too. He didn’t know how it had gotten into him, but it had.

Sam finally pulled back from Dean. He saw the deep concern in Dean’s eyes and managed a weak smile. “I’m okay. Well, maybe not okay, but better.”

Sam ran his hand through Dean’s hair. Damn, they both really needed a shower. Almost as much as they both needed a good meal.

All he could think was that Jim was going to kill him. Assuming Dean didn’t first.

He gave Dean a brief kiss and pushed himself up to his feet. He saw the question in his brother’s eyes.

“I’ll be right back.”

As he started to step away, Dean stood and grabbed his arm.

“I’m not leaving. I just have to go upstairs for a minute. I have to get something,” Sam reassured him. He could feel Dean’s reluctance at letting him go, but he did and Sam headed to the stairs. He dug through the hunter’s equipment until he found the small pouch which he carried back downstairs. He unzipped the pouch, pulled out the lock picks and went over to Dean, standing just out of reach. If he couldn’t get Dean’s word, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

“Tell me you won’t hurt my friends. Give me your word that you won’t hurt Bobby or Jim, and you won’t hurt Dad. Promise me. …And promise me that you won’t leave me.”

* * *

Dean heard the younger man’s soft intake of breath and he involuntarily tensed, holding his own breath as he waited for Sam’s reply. Had Dean said the right thing or had he said the wrong thing? A small eternity seemed to pass, his heart pounding hard in his chest, until Sam finally shifted in his arms… pulling away from him…

Fear morphed into the most bitter crushing disappointment he’d ever known and had absolutely no defense from it, though he tried. Tried to brace himself for the disgust or even hate he’d once more see in Sam’s eyes instead of affection. Tried to brace himself for whatever Sam would say or do to him now. Leave him, maybe even kill him…

But there was only affection in Sam’s watery eyes and Dean felt practically weak with relief. He was still worried, of course, for Sam, but seeing that smile no matter how weak it was, was probably one of the greatest joys Dean had ever known in all his life.

Dean closed his eyes and sighed softly at the gentle fingers stroking so tenderly through his hair, moaning softly at the soft kiss he was given, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms tightly around Sam and never let him go. Kiss him again, deeper, harder, replacing every pain either of them had ever known in their lives with pleasure.

Unfortunately all too soon Sam was drawing away from him even more and when Dean opened his eyes fear was already creeping back into them. He didn’t want Sam to go. Didn’t want him to leave. Even reached out instinctively to grab the younger man’s arm tighter than he meant to but he couldn’t make himself loosen his hold. Even once Sam reassured him he would be back soon, he didn’t know how he forced himself to let go. Agitation crawling under his skin like insects the entire time Sam was away. Every second feeling like a small eternity.

How had he come to rely on the younger man’s presence in his life so much in such a short time? A few days ago he would have sworn he needed no one. Cared for no one… no one except the boy in his dreams. The boy who was now a man. The boy who was now real, flesh and blood, no longer a ghost. Something he could hold on to, cling to, and Dean was determined not to let him slip away from him like in his dreams.

When Sam finally returned Dean felt relief but also curiosity, then utter shock when he realized just what Sam had gone to fetch and what he planned to do. Sam was setting him free, unlocking his chains, if Dean promised…

Dean looked down at his bound hands. That and the pouch hanging around his neck the only things that had been making him ‘behave’ or so he’d tried telling himself before. Now Sam was offering to release him from one of his prisons, asking for nothing in exchange but his word, and trusting him to keep it. Dean knew he could easily promise these things… and Sam would simply let him go. Whether it was a lie or not, Sam would do it. Would take the snake to his breast blindly trusting it wouldn’t bite him.

The worst of it was, Dean wasn’t sure if he made this promise if it would be a lie or not. He… wanted to stay with Sam. More than anything, and that frightened him. Just thinking what he might do in order to keep Sam safe. Going against everything he knew, everything he’d been ever taught to feel. Thinking of the dangers they would both face, not only from demons but maybe even from these ‘friends’ that Sam cared so much for, that had no idea what Sam really was. What if they turned on Sam once the younger man let him go? Would Sam still expect him to keep his promise if they tried to kill either of them?

“Even if I could give you that promise, you can’t trust me.” Dean finally said softly, looking into the younger man’s eyes, and swallowing hard as he stepped away from Sam. His chains rattling as he moved back towards the wall. He almost couldn’t believe what he was doing. All he knew was it was far less complicated, far less dangerous for both of them, if he remained a prisoner.

“Don’t unlock them… please.”

* * *

Instead of answering him, Dean stared down at his shackles as if mesmerized. Sam held his breath. It was foolish to offer this to Dean. He had only been with them a few days. A leopard didn’t change his spots that fast, if at all. Part of Sam’s desires to free Dean was purely selfish. He didn’t want to leave Dean. He wanted Dean at his side. His dream boy friend always seemed to make everything better. No matter how scared, how tired, how much he hurt, those almost intangible arms embracing him, that presence always made it better. He was all of those things—scared, tired, hurt-- and more right now, and his best friend was really here and tangible. He needed those arms around him, consoling and supporting him. He would give up any physical relationship with Dean so long as Dean was with him.

The thoughts of giving his best friend warmth and comfort in the form of a nice motel room, hot running water, a soft bed, and his own presence were his primary motivators. Sure sex was among his carnal motivations, but at the the moment those were paltry in comparison.

When Dean finally looked up to meet his eyes, Dean’s words shocked him and he stared dumbfounded as Dean backed away from him. Sam didn’t understand…no, maybe he did. The demons had brainwashed and trained him to be a killer. He had a mission to kill hunters. His father and himself were apparently on that list. While Dean was a prisoner, he had a justification for being unable to complete that mission. He didn’t have to hurt Sam.

Licking his lips, Sam gave a curt nod and smiled sadly. “Okay. I understand.”

Sam replaced the picks in the pouch and climbed the stairs, putting them back in the hunting gear. He paused and looked in at the table with the broken beaker. There was still some small bit of reaction going on. He shut his eyes a moment then returned to the basement. He walked boldly up to Dean and planted a deep kiss on his lips and pulled Dean into his arms.

When he finally pulled away, he smiled lovingly at Dean and whispered. “Thank you for not lying to me.” He stepped back to the first aid kit. “I have to rebandage your shoulder. I’m not ready to explain to Jim and Bobby how it was miraculously cured. And you need to finish cleaning yourself up without distracting me with your beautiful body. Jim will be here any minute and I’m not ready to explain you and me to them either.” He carried the bandages back to the mattress near the bucket of water and motioned Dean to come sit beside him.

* * *

Dean could see the confusion written clearly on Sam’s face, no less than his own though he concealed it much better, along with the fear that he might have just lost the younger man’s trust completely. Trust he never should have been able to gain in the first place, and would have probably been better for Sam in the end if he hadn’t, but that Dean still feared to lose.

The elder man almost smiled when he finally saw acceptance flash in the younger man’s eyes and Sam said he understood. That was good, at least one of them did. It was odd to feel relief when Sam put away the lock picks and returned upstairs with them. The heavy weight of the chains around his wrists and ankles a comfort rather than a burden. Maybe he was more than a little insane, but as long as he wore them he knew he could keep the promise Sam asked for. That was all that mattered to him right now.

When Sam returned, coming up to him without hesitation and kissing him Dean couldn’t help but moan softly into the younger man’s mouth as his arms wrapped gently around him. The kiss over far too soon in his opinion even though he knew time was of the essence now. Dean nodded in full agreement when Sam suggested he bandage his shoulder anyway and the reason. It was best the other hunters had no idea what Sam was capable of, just as it was best they didn’t know of their affection for each other. Safer for both of them.

So Dean moved over to sit down on the mattress where Sam indicated, picking up the previously discarded cloth he’d been using earlier to finish cleaning himself. This time quick and business like, and when he and Sam were both done with their tasks he pulled his clothes back into place. All the while considering his next words carefully, before finally speaking.

“You need to learn to control it, your power.” Dean said softly, looking into Sam’s eyes seriously. Unsure what the younger man’s reaction to his words might be considering how violently he’d reacted to the fact that he even had powers, but Dean had to take that chance. “I’ve never seen anyone with as much power as you have, and you wield it instinctively like a battering ram. That’s dangerous, for you and others, but I can show you how to control it.”

* * *

After Dean spoke, Sam turned to the first aid kit since he still hadn’t rebandaged his injuries. As he began bandaging his stitched up chest and his gashed arm, he contemplated Dean’s words.

His power. He suspected Dean had seen a lot of people with powers like his. He wondered if it was a good or bad thing that if he was going to have powers, they were stronger than anyone else’s. Probably a good thing. It would suck to have powers and be the target of every bully on the block. Especially when those bullies were demonic.

He had been thinking about asking Dean to teach him how to use them, but he hadn’t decided if that was wise or not. Dean said it himself, he couldn’t be trusted. Sam trusted Dean wouldn’t hurt him while he was chained. Hell trusted that Dean wouldn’t hurt him if he weren’t chained…mostly. He had seen in Dean’s eyes that Dean cared for him. Maybe not enough for Dean not to do his job, but one step at a time. Little battles won might win the war.

What if Dean could teach him to heal? He could heal his dad. If the powers were demonic, would using them for doing good counter the evil of their source? It was kind of like he held blood diamonds in his hands with no way to return them. How they came to be was horrible, but if he were to use them to buy things for people in need or donate them, at least something good would come from them…right? And whether he kept them or used them, they were still there and there would still be thugs after him. In this case, demons. These demons were a danger to him, to his father, to Jim and to Bobby. Yeah, they had tools to fight the demons, but nothing as effective as fighting fire with fire. Power with power.

He had jumped to the conclusion that Dean was sent to kill him. But that really didn’t make sense. They went after his friends. They went after his father. Dean lured him to that factory. He sicced a hellhound on him after he separated Sam from Jim and Bobby and sicced several hellhounds on them. Dean had been playing with him. Planned on killing his father in front of him. Why? Sam didn’t think Dean had done that with any other hunter. And it was anger or fear that always triggered that flare of power he felt. Dean was pushing him to test him. To see if he had powers. If he hadn’t had the bag of tricks Bobby had given him, he would have shown Dean he had power and Dean would have taken him down with little effort after that. And then there was what that demon girl told him. That it was going to take Sam in and someone was going to be pleased to see him. Again.

The demon that killed his mom, somehow put demonic blood into him, and kidnapped Dean.

Probably whoever yellow eyes, Dean, and the two demons they killed worked for. Although, he had never seen a demon have eyes any other color than black. Did that mean yellow eyes was higher up the food chain maybe? Still unlikely he was the boss. Why get his hands dirty after all?

Sam finally turned back around to face Dean and brought Dean over some clean water to wash his bloodied hands and some bandages for those wounds. He saw the concern and trepidation in his brother’s eyes.

Sam sighed as he set the supplies down and began working on Dean’s battered hands. “I’ve been denying I had these powers ever since you pushed me into using them. Yes, I think I should learn to control them. Hell, wield them. They’re going to be my only protection against more demonic hunters intent on taking me to your boss. The answer’s yes, regardless of what you tell me next, but I want to know, I need to know a few things. Were you sent here to take me to your boss? And yellow eyes, the one that killed Jessica, does he answer to your boss, too? Do you know if your boss is the one who kidnapped you and took you away from us? Please, Dean. Tell me. I’m guessing me being trained was probably the ultimate intent, trained and working for your boss, so consider more of your job done.” Sam winced when that last bit came out more bitter than he intended. His eyes turned to steel as he asked the final question. “You said I’m more powerful than anyone you’ve ever seen. Does that include your boss?”

* * *

The longer the silence stretched between his ‘offer’ and Sam’s answer the more uneasy Dean became. Sam went about what he was doing, tending to his own bandages and then Dean’s hands without really meeting his eyes and the elder man began to believe he’d made a mistake. That Sam might not even answer him at all, rather pretend that he’d never made his offer in the first place… hell maybe that would be the best, because what had Dean really offered Sam except a way to defend himself against his father…

If his father found out… At this point Dean knew he was as probably good as dead anyway for his spectacular failure, probably with a great deal of pain before he took his last breath and then even more once his soul was trapped in hell. But if there was one thing he knew, there was suffering and then there was _suffering_. Azazel knew how to inflict both, and Dean shuddered to think of some of the things he’d seen his father do to his enemies done to him.

He was almost hoping now that Sam wouldn’t answer him, or at least tell him no. But Sam needed to learn. So far he’d tapped into his gifts surprisingly well, with no harmful backlashes to himself or others. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen, and wouldn’t happen soon. The more easily Sam was able to reach for that power, the easier he could lose control of it. So when the younger man, finally, agreed Dean was pleased even though to be honest his feelings were mixed, even though he’d been the one to make the offer in the first place.

When Sam went on to ask him questions, questions Dean couldn’t answer, Dean’s unease about the whole thing only grew. It would be so ‘easy’ to give Sam the answers he asked for. The younger man had already figured out a surprising amount on his own, though he didn’t know it. He was either very perceptive or guessing and just happening to guess correctly. All Dean had to say was ‘yes’ or ‘no’, shake or nod his head. But he couldn’t…

One day Azazel would find him, it was inevitable and Dean knew his father would know if Dean gave Sam any information. He could take the knowledge right out of his head if he wished. Dean couldn’t hide forever. Sooner or later his father would find him, and then… But if he didn’t tell Sam what he wanted to know… Dean was torn. With the choice between risking his father’s and Sam’s wrath… Dean feared both for completely different reasons, but that didn’t make them both equally powerful.

“If I tell you, he’s going to know. I can’t… I’m sorry…” Dean finally whispered, dropping his eyes, willing to take any punishment Sam decided to dish out.

* * *

Sam sighed again, but this time in frustration. He wanted those answers. Maybe, though, maybe if he learned how to handle his powers well enough, Dean would feel Sam could protect him from whoever this “he” was. It might not be apparent, but he could sense Dean was afraid of this “he” who was probably Dean’s boss and therefore a demon. He knew, he had felt, some of the things done to Dean, and a few times he knew that torture was for punishment. When they were upstairs, when Sam threatened to torture Dean to get information, the elder man implied the torturers of Hell had worked him over again and again. If he told Sam anything, that, he believed, would be his fate again. To be at the torturers’ mercy.

That wasn’t going to happen, not while there was any breath of life in Sam. He would save his brother. He would find a way. If rage drove his power, then just let anyone try to hurt Dean or take him away from Sam. They would discover Sam’s full extent of power. He didn’t know how strong he was, but he had completely lost control in the warehouse and he had banished every last hellhound back the netherworld. And that was him just beginning to embrace those powers. What could he do if he could actually control them? The thought scared him, but if meant his brother’s salvation, then by God, he would do anything, give anything, to see Dean free from that demonic bastard. He didn’t just want that demonic bastard sent so far into Hell he had no chance of crawling out in their lifetimes, he wanted that son-of-a-bitch dead.

Sam felt the start of the flare of power in him, responding to his rage. No, no, no! Letting go of his rage, Sam frantically pushed that surge back. He didn’t have a target for the rage and that, he suspected, would be a very bad thing.

The trickle of warm fluid from his nose brought a soft curse to his lips and he wiped the blood away as a mild headache thrummed to life. He had gotten nosebleeds on and off through out his life and typically it was after he had been really really pissed at someone or something. A blinding migraine was a common follow up to said nosebleed. He frowned and wondered if there was any connection to his powers. He shook his head a little to himself. Probably nothing more than a coincidence he told himself and forced himself to calm down and not panic. It was getting far too easy for that power of his to jump to life and someone was going to get hurt because of his carelessness. He needed to learn control and as fast as possible.

Finishing the bandaging of Dean’s hands, Sam used his finger to lift Dean’s chin so he could lock gazes with the elder man. He knew his brother was afraid Sam was going to lash out at him and demand answers. That was what Dean had come to expect from anyone. If he didn’t do as he was asked, he was punished. Well, not in this lifetime.

“You at least gave me a reason for not telling me this time. I’m not happy, but I accept that reason and I think I understand it.” He pulled Dean into his arms. “If you teach me, maybe I can learn enough to protect you, maybe learn enough to get you free of this demon. I’ll do everything I can to make sure no one ever hurts you again. We’re brothers. It’s our job to look out for one another.”

* * *

Dean kept his head lowered submissively. Kneeling passively on the mattress. The position he'd often assumed while he was waiting for the torture to begin. Waiting for his father's wrath.

Now waiting for his… brother's…

Even though he'd said the word, it was still so hard to believe. He wasn't even sure he really did, even though there was little else that could explain everything. The connection they had. The reason they'd dreamed each other. Of course he knew his father had taken him from somewhere… saved him… that's what his father had said.

Saved him from being merely human. Saved him from all human weaknesses… He'd believed that. He wasn't sure what he believed anymore.

When he felt the flare of the younger man's power it came as no surprise to him. He'd recognized that pattern as surely as Sam had. How easily the power came in response to strong emotion. Especially anger. Which was why when Sam lifted his chin Dean was surprised by the lack of it in the younger man's eyes. Even more surprised when he was pulled into a tight embrace.

Sam wasn't going to punish him? It was true that the younger man had said he wouldn't torture him before even after he'd threatened too, but then not long after Sam had beaten him anyway. He wouldn't have blamed Sam for beating him now, and was prepared for it. It wouldn't have changed the way he felt about the younger man.

When Sam talked about protecting him… from Azazel… Dean didn't know whether to feel terrified at the thought of the younger man trying to stand up to the demon, or completely confused as to why Sam would risk himself like that in the first place. Risk his life, and more, for him… Of course Sam had no idea what he would be dealing with, but that didn't make his offer any less overwhelming.

Dean's arms came up around the younger man and held him tightly, he didn't know what to say, how to put what he was feeling in words, so he said nothing. Simply holding on to Sam, his brother, for as long as he could, praying this dream wouldn't be ripped from his grasp like so many others.

* * *

Sam smiled when Dean clutched at him tightly and Sam tightened his own embrace a little. He wished he could control his powers enough, that he could trust them enough, to try to heal Dean. He wondered if rage could bring on his powers, maybe love could as well? He still decided it was best to wait to try. Dean would teach him and then if Dean still needed healing, he would be able to do it for Dean without fear.

For now, he was content to hold his brother. He knew Dean had a long way to go before he would be able to function in a human world. All Dean knew was whatever those bastards had beaten into him. It had taken Sam a while to figure out Dean expected to be beaten every time he refused to do something, but having seen Dean looking so painfully submissive, it erased any doubt he was waiting for Sam to mete out punishment.

If his brother was anything like Sam and his father, he understood a little better why Dean had been beaten so much when he was younger. Winchester was synonymous with stubborn ass. That also meant Dean was going to be stubborn about letting go of what the demons made him into, whether he meant to be or not. It was just the Winchester way.

Sam ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Dean’s head. He realized suddenly that he didn’t want to kiss Dean or make love to him at this moment. He just wanted to be with Dean. With his brother, whom he had always loved even if now it was not quite in the way brothers were supposed to. Who was to say what was normal though? His life had been anything but normal, and if he found happiness in his brother’s arms…he would steal this precious time and damn the rest of the world and their mores. Convincing Jim and Bobby…and his father… of that particular outlook might be a bit more challenging. For now he would rather they saw nothing but brotherly love develop between Sam and Dean. If the other hunters suspected something more, he would deal with that then.

Sam and Dean. It sounded right. It sounded like they should have always been together, and not just as ghostly comfort for one another.

Sam finally released Dean. “I need to get my little experiment upstairs cleaned up. I don’t need Bobby or Jim asking how that beaker got broken and why there’s a bloody scalpel up there.” Sam looked over at the puddle of vomit. His stomach still ached from his dry heaves. “And if either of us are going to have any appetite, that nastiness needs to be gone too.”

He ran his hand along Dean’s temple and through his hair. “I’ll see if we can’t get you a portable shower set up down here. Maybe we can even get the water heater working or something. I refuse to have wild passionate love with Stinky Boy which you are going to be in another few days. You’re creeping that way now, Dude.” He grinned at the elder man.

Okay, so maybe he did want to kiss Dean. Those damned sensual lips were just too damned delicious. Sam planted a deep, intense kiss on Dean. When he finally came up for air he gasped, “Damn I wish we had more time.”

Sam pushed himself to his feet and was glad he didn’t see hurt in his brother’s eyes that Sam had stopped the kiss. Sam refilled the bucket with fresh water and went over to the nasty puddle and quickly began wiping it up, trying hard to keep his gorge down. He glanced back at Dean whose gaze was fixed on him. With a mischievous grin Sam sloooowly took his shirt off and set it aside, then went back to work get the last of the vomit wiped away. After dumping and rinsing out the bucket, he thoroughly washed his hands. Just the upstairs left.  
  
Sam grabbed his shirt and slipped back into it. Shit it was chilly in the basement. He paused before he headed up the stairs, his attention on his brother. “I would like to show Jim and Bobby that I have some measure of trust for you. When Jim gets here with the food, would it be all right if I sat with you and ate? You know, within your reach? Would that put you in a position where you felt compelled to try to show them I can’t trust you?”

* * *

Dean knew he could have stayed like this for hours. Just like this. Holding on to each other like nothing else in the world existed but them while Sam pet him in a way that practically had the older man purring. Sam's warmth soaking into him. The feel of the younger man's body pressing against him practically everywhere, feeling so good. Sam's smell filling his senses, fuck, he smelled good. Warm. Clean. Pure. Though the scent was slightly dulled by alcohol, Dean hardly minded. He wished they could stay here, where nothing else mattered. Nothing but them.

When Sam finally relaxed his hold Dean allowed the younger man to draw away with a deep sigh of regret. But he knew Sam was right. He didn't really understand what the other man meant by the experiment he'd done upstairs, wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he knew it was best for both their interests that the other hunters learned nothing about the drama that had just occurred in the last few minutes. Especially regarding Sam's 'newly' discovered powers.

He didn't trust those hunters with Sam. If they discovered that the younger man was like him, what was going to stop them from doing to Sam the same thing they'd done to him? Chain him up and experiment on him. Torture him. The only reason they still weren't doing that to him was because of Sam. But once they discovered Sam had demon blood flowing through his veins what was to stop them from turning on the younger man?

Though Dean couldn't help but smile in amusement when Sam mentioned them getting him a _shower_ , for fuck sake, and the reason why. Turning this old abandoned basement into a virtual suite compared to what Dean was used to. Not that he thought the other hunters were going to go for it, and Dean could just as easily bathe with a bucket of water when he needed to, but he appreciated the thought. He also definitely appreciated the implication that Sam wanted to have sex with him again. Hopefully soon.

Dean groaned softly when Sam kissed him passionately, eagerly accepting the younger man's tongue into his mouth and then chasing it back into Sam's. Tasting every inch of the younger man's mouth he possibly could before Sam broke their kiss and he echoed the younger man's sigh of frustration.

However he let Sam pull out of his arms without complaint. Watching as the younger man started the less than pleasant task of cleaning up the mess on the floor. Of course Dean had seen far worse. There wasn't much more disgusting than chunks of steaming rotting flesh and chunks of bone spread covering every surface, including yourself. But that still didn't make it any more pleasant.

At least, until Sam did his little strip tease in the middle of his work, and Dean raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly. Enjoying the view of Sam on his hands and knees, and the play of muscles along his chest and back. Dean was almost disappointed when the younger man finished.

The question Sam asked him when the younger man paused on his way up the stairs surprised Dean a bit. He wasn't sure he agreed with Sam's plan to show the other hunters that Sam trusted him. If he were in the hunters place he'd probably think the younger man was taking foolish risks and put a stop to it. One way or another.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea. They are never going to believe I'm not a danger to you. You trusting me would only be in my advantage, they would know that." Dean wondered if he would ever not be a danger to Sam, even if he didn't want to be. "They would only consider me an even bigger threat to you if you showed them you trusted me."

* * *

Sam chewed over Dean’s words. His brother had a point. Still he wanted the older hunters to see that Dean could be trusted, at least with Sam. After what Dean said when Sam offered to release him, he wasn’t sure the same could be said of Dean when it came to Jim and Bobby though. Well, Fuck.

Sam gave a nod to Dean and began climbing the stairs, not quite sure yet which side of the line he wanted to walk. Dean had given him a lot more answers than his brother probably meant to. Sure, there was still some question as to the veracity of those answers, but at least Sam could start constructing working theories.

Dean wouldn’t hurt him; that was pretty much a given. It was also pretty apparent the demonic boss wanted Sam brought in. That and any feelings the two brothers were developing for one another only further supported that Dean wouldn’t hurt him. If Dean got loose would he take Sam to his boss? That was a little more in question. Dean cared about Sam as much, maybe even more, than Sam cared about Dean. Dean might well decide the best way for them to be together was for him to take Sam to this boss. As for Jim, Bobby, and his father, Dean potentially had orders to kill them. There it got sticky. Dean had every right not to trust Jim or Bobby, and he didn’t know their father, so he had no reason to fight any order he might have been given regarding them. The only saving grace might be if Dean cared enough about Sam that he wouldn't want to hurt someone Sam cared about. But orders were orders…

At least Sam knew where he needed to start. He needed to convince Jim and Bobby to treat Dean like a human and not a demon. No, they couldn’t trust him. And yes, it was going to be hard because of what Dean had done to Dad, but they had to get over it, just as Dean was going to have to learn to deal with them.

Sam entered Bobby’s work room and looked at the blackened mess around the broken beaker. That was in him. Demon blood. For a little while there, he could almost pretend it had been just another part of the nightmare. Hell, who was he kidding, he was in a waking nightmare.

Sifting through Bobby's supplies, Sam found an empty store bag and carefully picked up the pieces of the beaker and set them down inside. On top of it he added the rest of the melted and burned goo, cleaning it up as best he could, but he knew Bobby was going to notice the scorch marks on the table. Scorch marks.

They had put this poison in Dean. It must have been excruciating. Bobby couldn't have known. None of them expected anything like this. He wondered why his blood reacted so much more strongly than Dean's. Maybe because he was younger when he got it? Surely the demon that had held Dean all these years would have made sure Dean got plenty of the virus or blood or whatever it was. Age—or a different demon—was the only real explanation for the difference then. Sam chewed on his lip. If the source of the demonic blood came from a demon doing something to him, then the demon wouldn't have handed the job off to an underling. Somehow he didn't see a demon carry around a syringe of demon virus or poisoned apple or whatever the fuck it used. Then maybe the demon that did this to him was…yellow eyes? Maybe. He could pretend he was confident that was the case and spring it on Dean and see how Dean reacted. Or the next demonic bad-ass he ran in to. It was a pretty damned good bet there would be more.

He gaze lingered on the scorching on the table. There was little doubt Bobby would ask about it and he wasn’t sure yet what he would tell Bobby when Bobby asked. He really needed to speak with his dad. He would rather talk this out with his dad first, if his father was strong enough. What was he going to say? The last time he had spilled his guts to his dad, he had nearly killed him! Worse, all the horrible things Dean had done to John would be there smacking him in the face, reminding him just what Dean really was—no, not what, who. If he couldn't even keep that straight in his mind, how the hell was he going to get Jim and Bobby over on his side? Dean had only been doing what he had been taught to do. What he had been ordered to do. If he and Sam hadn’t been best friends through the years, Dean would be dead by now. He would have killed his own brother without even knowing it.

Sam picked up the bloodied scalpel and washed it off thoroughly before setting it back on the table. Last thing he wanted was Bobby to be cutting up herbs and the scalpel to suddenly start fizzing away. After he buried the bag with the broken beaker deeply in a bag of trash Bobby had already started, he began cleaning up the trail of blood his gashed arm had left on the floor leading to the basement. He had just reached the basement door when he heard the front door open. Sam grabbed the salt loaded shotgun and pointed it toward the front hall. He grinned when he saw Jim and set the gun back down, leaning it against the doorframe. He strode forward and helped lighten the one armed man of his delicious smelling load of food.

“That smells freaking awesome,” Sam said.

Jim smiled at the young hunter. “Nice to see you too, Samuel.”

Sam flushed. “Uh, good to see you, Jim. Thanks for getting dinner.”

“I have four propane tanks outside yet. I dropped them off at the front door before parking.”

“I’ll get them,” Sam volunteered and after setting the food on the table Bobby had been using, hurried to the door, and got the propane bottles inside. He carried two down into the basement.

“This will get a little more warmth in here for us,” Sam told Dean as he switched out the tank on the heater and ignited it. He held his hand in front of it then turned it down a little. “This should be enough to keep you warm,” Sam said. “I’ll be back down with food in just a minute.”

Sam glanced up at the doorway. Oh, hell, he was being foolish. But he couldn't help it.

He crossed the distance over to Dean and stuck his tongue practically down the elder man's throat and groped him through his jeans. He pulled away when he heard movement upstairs and grinned at his brother. He stole another quick kiss and then hurried back upstairs to Jim’s side. He forced his stupid grin off his face. He knew he was mostly giddy with being so fucking hungry he was ready to eat damned near anything put in front of him. If Jim hadn't gotten here with the steaks he would be diving into the ice chest of deli sandwiches right now.

Hah. Who was he kidding? If Jim wasn't here, he would say screw food. He'd rather screw Dean.

Sam sank into the nearest chair resting his forehead on his palm. Okay, he was a whole lot hungrier and more tired than he realized. He was getting slaphappy.

“How is,” Jim paused a moment, hesitating, “how is your brother?”

Sam’s gaze cut to the good pastor. He had to bite back the absurd response-- _Unfucking believable in bed_ \--his exhausted mind wanted to make. Instead he asked, “You believe me?”

“I have had quite a bit of time to think about it. I believe it is possible. I believe that you believe it, and it would explain the connection you two have apparently shared through the years. You spoke of “bonding” with him. Care to elaborate?”

Sam dug into the first container he came to. A roll. That was good. He bit into the steaming, buttery roll and groaned in delight. He had to get some calories into him before his giddy mind said something beyond idiotic. He devoured the roll in just a handful of seconds.

"Sam?" Jim asked patiently.

Sam smiled weakly. "Sorry, Jim. I'm just really hungry. Uh, well, I’ve convinced him he is my brother. We’ve reached some level of peace about a lot of things. I can get close to him without worry of him trying to kill me at this point.”

“Sam!” Jim began, horrified.

“Jim," Sam scoffed, "think about it. I’m the only reason he's still alive, or at least, not you and Bobby’s test subject.”

Jim considered a moment and nodded.

“If either of you came in and he had hurt me or even killed me? Not the most prudent action to take to stay alive. So trust me when I say, he won’t hurt me. Not at this point in time anyhow.” Sam pulled out one of the cups of coffee and after putting some crème and sugar into it took a sip. “Damn, that’s good.”

"He could hold you hostage," Jim pointed out.

Sam shrugged and nodded. "Yes. I suppose he could." Refocusing on Jim, Sam said, “Jim, I'm not being fool-hardy. I know he did terrible things to Dad. I know he has done a lot of terrible things to a lot people. On a guess, he is still under orders to kill you and Bobby and Dad. He won’t confirm that because he told me if he answered any of my questions, his boss would know. He’s terrified of this damned demon boss. Somehow I intend to find out its name and I intend to save Dean from it.” Sam rested his hand on the old hunter’s shoulder.

“I know he is still a danger, and I'm keeping that well in mind. I'm NOT a ten year old who doesn't know how to defend himself, and I am not letting the fact he is my brother blind me to the fact he is their soldier first and my brother second. Have some faith in me Jim. But I _will_ save him, and when I do, he’s going to have to learn to live among humans instead of demons. I need you and Bobby to help me. I’m just asking that you treat him like a human. Don’t trust him, but don’t treat him like some evil thing that’s crawled out of the dark. Don’t treat him like he’s evil. He’s been made into a weapon and right now, he is being used as a weapon against us. If he doesn’t answer a question, he expects to be beaten. If you make a mistake, he may well try to take advantage of it. But please, Jim, you said love could win him over. Can you try to show him forgiveness and kindness?”

Jim stared into those puppy dog eyes that Sam could win damned near anyone over with. Reluctantly, and with a long suffering sigh, he agreed.

Sam grinned at the pastor. “Okay, let’s go eat. You take the food. I’ll grab one of these folding tables and another chair.”

Sam followed after Jim, awkwardly carrying the table down the steep stairs. He was pleased to notice the room felt a little warmer already.

Jim helped Sam get the table set up and they spread the food out across the table. Sam quickly cut up one of the steaks with his pocket knife then turned.

“Pastor Jim Murphy, meet Dean Winchester, my brother. Dean, meet Jim, a long time friend of the family.”

Sam almost laughed at the look the two gave each other. Sam carried the container with the cut up steak over to Dean and handed it to him, easily within Dean’s reach. He saw Dean’s clear disapproval. He saw similar disapproval on Jim’s face. Too bad. He grabbed one of the drinks, a cup of coffee, and the bowl of chicken noodle soup and carried it over to Dean as well. “Only eat what you can. I don’t want to have to clean up any more vomit,” Sam said softly as he handed those to Dean and backed away, returning to the table beside Jim and settling down, facing Dean. He didn't waste any time digging into the hot meal.

* * *

Dean could tell the younger man wasn’t all that pleased with his observation, but that was just too bad really. The sooner Sam realized that he couldn’t trust his “friends” any more than Sam could trust him, the better off the younger man would be. Hate and fear were emotions that could always be counted on more than any other. Things like loyalty… love… were often illusions and fleeting illusions at best. Real loyalty was only won through power and through fear. Fear that could also fuel betrayal.

He had little doubt that the latter is what would happen once the hunters learned of Sam’s special abilities, of the demon blood he had flowing through his veins. That was why Dean needed to show Sam how to control his powers as soon as possible. So Sam could hide his abilities, and also to protect himself from his “friends” as well as the demons who might come after him. Some of them to finish Dean’s job and take Sam to his father. But others who would realize what Sam really was and hate him, like they hated Dean, and would come to kill him.

Dean wasn’t going to let any of those things happen. If he had to kill Sam’s “friends” in order to protect him, he wouldn’t hesitate. Dean hadn’t hesitated killing Dumah, though his own life had been threatened as well, he wouldn’t hesitate sending any other demon back to hell that tried to take Sam away from him. Sam was his, and he didn’t care how dangerous his thoughts right now were. He wasn’t going to let another demon touch Sam.

Though sooner or later Dean knew his father would come for Sam. If all others failed, Azazel would come himself to find the younger man. To find Dean… A shiver ran down the young man’s spine before he could stop it. Yes, he was afraid of Azazel, and for good reason. All demons feared him. All demons obeyed him. His father wanted Sam, and would have him. There was nothing Dean could do about it. But maybe…

Azazel had many children. Dean had tested many of them himself. He’d seen dozens of them crumble underneath the same training Dean himself had gone through. He’d watched them kill each other and then destroy themselves. None of them were as strong as Dean, that was why he was his father’s favorite… until Sam. None of them, not even Dean, had the kind of power that Dean sensed within Sam. Maybe… maybe enough to rival Azazel’s own.

Dangerous thoughts. Very dangerous.

Dean was glad for the distraction when he heard the footsteps coming down the stairs to the basement. Watching as the younger man changed out the propane tank for the heater and nodding when Sam said he’d be back with food. Dean had to admit he was quite hungry by now, not having had anything but that one hamburger Sam had fed him… yesterday? Had it only been yesterday? He wasn’t sure. So much seemed to have happened it seemed so much longer.

Dean couldn’t help but grin when the younger man came over to him, kissing him deeply, and Dean eagerly sucked on Sam’s tongue the younger man stuck down his throat as his brother palmed his dick through his jeans. Making him hungry for something other than food by the time the younger man pulled away again and went back upstairs, presumably for the promised dinner.

He was still grinning when Sam returned, at least until he saw the other hunter come with Sam and Dean’s smile quickly turned to a frown. All but scowling as Sam took the opportunity to “introduce” them to each other. He didn’t bother to hide his disdain, just as the older hunter didn’t bother to hide his contempt or distrust. At least they had that in common.

Dean only frowned more when Sam came over to him with his food, well within his reach of his chains with the other hunter watching. The younger man obviously completely ignoring his earlier words of warning regarding his “friends”, but there was nothing Dean could really say or do. Or more correctly, nothing Dean was willing to do. So he only sighed heavily as he took the food from the younger man. Watching the other hunter with narrowed eyes the entire time until Sam moved away from him, and then Dean proceeded to ignore the pastor completely, concentrating on his food instead.

Starting with the soup and then moving to the steak with all the fixings. Though he forced himself to eat slowly, even though he was starving, he didn’t want to overdo it like Sam suggested. Considering how ill he’d been not long ago eating too quickly only to have it come back up just as quickly was not a pleasant thought in the least.

* * *

Sam forced himself to stop short of stuffing himself, but the meal had been outstanding. Dean was still slowly eating his, having hardly finished the soup and was just starting on the steak. Sam gave a soft burp and almost wished he had followed his own advice and eaten more slowly. It felt really good to have a full stomach though. He knew he would feel even better with a shower and some sleep in a real bed. Looking at Dean's living conditions he felt a pang of both regret and guilt. He had so wanted Dean to agree to the promise he had asked. Then he and his brother could be headed to the motel, they could shower, and curl up together and sleep for hours. Even with the sleep he had gotten laying next to Dean, he still felt bone tired.

But sleep wasn't really an option and Sam knew it. Bobby had been with his father for awhile at this point, and Sam ought to go relieve him. A shower first though. He absolutely needed a freaking shower. After the shower he would head to the hospital. Even though a soft bed was tempting, even more than feeling his duty to relieve the older hunter from sitting sentinel, he really needed to talk with his dad about his "abilities." He wanted to discuss his theories and see what his father thought and if John maybe had additional insight. He wasn't sure yet if he wanted to tell his father he was going to have Dean teach him how to wield them. Sam didn't think any of the three hunters would approve of that, but Dean was right that Sam had to learn to control them before he hurt someone and Dean was the only teacher available.

Sam's attention turned to the pastor who was finishing up his own meal.

"Jim, if we're going to stay here, and if we're going to keep Dean here, think we might be able to get some hot water going? Maybe we could even rig up one of those camping shower things for Dean? There's a drain in the floor for the water to go down."

Jim looked up from his meal, first meeting Sam's gaze then glancing over to the man who had nearly killed him. Sam's innocent belief in good had always endeared the young boy to Jim. Jim couldn't deny that the killer in chains was certainly calmer and apparently less the demonic man. Certainly both he and the man held a common disdain for one another, but he had been surprised by the disapproving look he had seen in the man's eyes when Sam had given him food and drink. There wasn't the burning hatred that had been in the man's green eyes not so very long ago, but rather a look that told Sam he was making a mistake and being foolish. The same look that had probably been on Jim's own face. There was no doubt the man was a predator, and there was no doubt that he was biding his time no matter what Sam thought. Jim also wondered if it wasn’t best to continue to let the man believe the only reason he was alive was because of Sam. If Sam was determined to try to win his brother back, best Dean consider Sam indispensable.

Camping shower. Plastic bag to hold the water, plastic tubing for the water run through, frame to hold everything up. And was Sam nuts?

Jim held his tongue for a moment, deciding best how to answer that request. Although Sam had asked him, and he had agreed, to try to show some forgiveness to Dean, the images of John Winchester in the hospital room, fighting to live, was a major hurdle to that. If he accepted Dean was Sam's brother, then Dean was John's son, and John would be asking the same of Jim, even after what bastard had done. Sam was like a nephew to him and John like a brother. That meant this…person…in chains was family too. He slowly shook his head and his eyes came back to Sam.

"No camping shower, Sam," Jim told him firmly. He brought his gaze back to the man whom he knew was watching him under hooded eyelids. "But I'll see if we can't get some hot water so he can bathe in something other than the frigid tap water. Bobby was the one who got the water turned on. This church probably has a boiler system for heating and hot water, but Bobby and I will find some way to make your brother more comfortable." Jim paused, eyeing the only two blankets Dean had. The emergency blanket wasn't half bad but the other one was pretty pathetic. "I have a sleeping bag in the trunk. I'll bring that in for him. And you need to get going. Some shut eye would do you some good."

Sam smiled his thanks to Jim. "I'm going to shower, but then I'm going to go see Dad and relieve Bobby. I'm sure Bobby is ready to get some sleep, himself."

Jim knew better than to try to argue with a Winchester over trivial matters so he didn't push. He was pleased that Sam wanted to go see his father. It was such a shame it took trauma of this magnitude to get the Winchesters talking again.

Jim climbed to his feet. "I'll go get the sleeping bag." He waved at the mostly empty Styrofoam containers on the table. "You do the dishes."

Sam began picking up the trash but as soon as Jim was out of earshot, he went to Dean's side and squatted down, running his hand gently over Dean's short hair. "I've got to go for awhile. Please, Jim and Bobby both mean a lot to me. I've asked them to be civil to you. Please, will you try to do the same? For me?"

* * *

Dean didn’t particularly care that the two men talked about him like he wasn’t even in the room. He didn’t particularly want to be included in the conversation to begin with. Content to be ignored, except for a few brief glances both hunters cast his way, while he ate his food.

He wasn’t surprised to hear the older man refuse Sam’s request to give him a camping shower, Dean thought the younger man was a little foolish to even bring it up in the first place. Though when the pastor agreed to at least try to get him some hot water to bathe in, that surprised Dean more than a little. Especially considering it was such a trivial comfort. He could wash himself just as easily in cold water. It made no real difference.

Dean looked up with a raised eyebrow when the older hunter, without prompting, went on to offer to give him a sleeping bag. As though the mattress and blankets he already had wasn’t already better than he was used to most of the time.

He looked back to his food rather quickly when Sam mentioned going to see his “Dad” rather than going to the motel to rest as the other hunter suggested. John Winchester. The man Dean had tortured. Sam’s father, and by extension, if Dean believed Sam was really his brother, his father… The idea didn’t sit very well with him, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as though he felt anything for the man, even if he was his “father”. He didn’t consider that _man_ anything to him. Whatever blood he might share with him, Azazel’s blood ran stronger through his veins. That was something both he and Sam had in common as well, that made them more brothers than mere human blood.

Dean was glad when the older hunter left, not really looking forward to his return despite the “generous” offer. He looked up again when Sam knelt down beside him, enjoying the feel of the younger man’s fingers running through his hair in spite of himself. Leaning a little into the touch with a sigh even as he frowned a little at Sam’s request.

Civil.

The last time he’d considered himself “civil” towards a hunter, other than Sam of course, was giving the man a relatively quick and clean death. Dean was quite certain that’s not what the younger man had in mind of course.

“For you. For now.” Dean finally agreed softly.

* * *

"Thank you," Sam said, running his hand along Dean's jaw, brushing Dean's bruised cheek with his thumb. Bruises he had given Dean and Dean had forgiven him for. Just as he had forgiven Dean for the the rake of hellhound claws down his chest. Sam kissed Dean firmly then stood, wincing a little at the soreness inside of him that Dean had caused. He hated that he had to leave Dean alone. Hated the thought that Dean would be defenseless if another demon attacked. There simply wasn't any other choice. He couldn't trust Dean with a weapon. Dean had told him so himself. With Jim there, and the additional precautions taken, both men should be safe. He hoped.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

Reluctantly, Sam headed up the stairs, pausing at the top to stare back down at his brother. Clenching his jaw, he made himself leave, pausing only long enough to get the motel key and directions to the motel from Jim, then giving Jim a "be careful" before he exited the church.

The new motel was almost as close as the first one, but was south rather than north of the church. It was in a better neighborhood and the parking lot had a collection of much newer and nicer cars than had been at the old one. When Sam pulled into a parking spot he paused, intensely scanning the area. He was not going to get caught off guard again. With a soft snort, he knew he was already beat to hell, bruised in more places than he could count and he did not need any more surprises.

Seeing no one around, Sam quickly grabbed his things and got inside the room. The salt lines were intact and Bobby or Jim had taped down the blanket at the front door that had a devil's trap printed on it. A quick search of the room confirmed to Sam that he was alone and no one had apparently been in. He eyed the bed longingly but instead of acting on his desire, headed into the bathroom and got the shower started. He disrobed as quickly as his abused body would let him, stripped off his bandages, and stepped into the shower.

He stood under its gentle spray, soaking up the relaxing warmth and letting it seep into his bones. So much had happened in such a very short time he felt as if the weight of the world was borne on his shoulders. The absence of Dean was a sharp ache. How had he grown so needy of Dean in such a short time? Was it because that for so long Dean had been nothing but a ghost Sam could never hope to ever be with and now he knew better? Now he had touched that scarred flesh, had tasted those sweet lips, had felt Dean inside of him.

What if Dean was just playing him? What if…

Had it only been a few days ago that he had stared at the man, chained to a chair, and threatened him with torture? Then a mere day later he had kissed the man and found something burning inside him that went against all common sense. Half a day ago he…lost his virginity to his older brother. And about two hours ago he realized he had more demon in him than the long lost brother reared by demons.

He remembered the feral need he had seen in the elder man eyes when they made love. He remembered the pain-filled emotional eyes that spoke volumes to him in ways words never could. They had never needed to talk to know what the other was feeling. Dean…loved him. Dean always had. And he had always loved Dean. The physical manifestation of that deep love wasn't a surprise, not really, not now that they could be there for each other and protect each other. But Dean was as readily shackled by his demonic overseer as he was by the iron chains he begged Sam not to release him from. Dean was not messing with his head. But Dean also was unable to choose Sam over that demon bastard. He was that demon's slave and that was why Sam could not trust him. Fear trumped love. For now.

He needed to get to his father.

Shaking off the thoughts of his brother, he quickly finished his shower and got dressed. He recovered his stitches that he shouldn't have gotten wet but had anyhow, and bandaged his other few wounds that really needed the protection. With a glance outside to ensure no one was around, he slipped out the door, got into the Impala and headed to the hospital.

* * *

The past few days John Winchester felt like he’d slept more than he’d had his whole life. At first barely even remembering when he was awake, and when he was it was usually only for a few minutes at that. He didn’t know whether that had to do with the drugs the doctors were pumping into him, or because it was simply too much an effort to remain awake while his injured body slowly recovered.

Most likely a mixture of both, but at least he was able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time now, which pleased him as well as the doctors. He was recovering well, they said, even better than they’d hoped. Though they made it a point to nag him again and again to make sure he took it easy and not stress himself. Probably afraid he’d have another heart attack despite the fact that all the tests showed he was doing much better, and his heart wasn’t under any stress.

The first time he’d woken, after his son had left, Jim had been sitting with him. The pastor giving him a rundown of everything that had happened since Bobby had called him to come help rescue his ass. His old friend also confirming Sam was doing fine, which John had been worried about, though admitting to him that the younger man had been more than a little shaken up by his earlier heart attack. John couldn’t really blame him.

The pastor had also taken the opportunity to chastise him about his six year estrangement from his son. Basically telling him not to be such a stubborn bastard in the future and not to waste this opportunity, despite the circumstances, to heal the rift between him and Sam. John had agreed Jim was right, as he annoyingly usually was, right before falling back into an exhausted sleep.

The next time he’d woken up Bobby had been at his side and John had been surprised to hear it had been almost a full day since the last time he’d woken. The other hunter giving him a quick rundown of pretty much everything that had happened, between Jim’s, Bobby’s, and Sam’s stories he thought he had a pretty good picture of what was going on.

Though when Bobby filled him in about the demon attack on Sam and on the church Bobby had barely managed to convince him to stay in the fucking bed that John almost got out of despite how impossible that sounded. Reassuring him over and over that his son was fine, even though John knew he wouldn’t be completely put at ease until he saw Sam again for himself.

Only the fact that his room got the crappiest cell phone reception kept him from calling the younger man immediately. The other hunter convincing him, more like threatening him, to get some more rest and Sam would be by himself later to check up on him. Though John couldn’t stop thinking about how not only he had been attacked and used as bait to lure Sam out, but Sam had been targeted a _second_ time in less than two days. Demons singling out hunters was one thing, demons singling out one specific hunter… Why would they be going after Sam to begin with, who hadn’t even been a hunter in years? It didn’t make sense.

He fell asleep again, less because of Bobby’s disapproving glare than because he just couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. His dreams offering him no answers, just disturbing images, memories of the torture he’d suffered combined with the even more painful memories of the death of his wife and son.

When John woke again it was to the sound of voices in his room. Not the doctors, he realized when he opened his eyes and turned his head, but Bobby talking to Sam in the doorway, probably giving the younger man an update of his condition before they switched places.

He watched as Bobby left and John offered Sam a slight smile when his son turned to enter the room.

“Hey.” He greeted the younger man as he reached for his bed remote control and used it to help him sit up a bit more.

* * *

Sam made one brief stop on the way to the hospital, picking up the candy bar he had promised his father. He felt so much better just being in clean clothes and having had a shower. Considering how his world had come crashing down around him so recently, he was, relatively speaking, feeling halfway decent. Still on emotional overload, yeah, and he knew it was just a matter of time before it all caught up with him. He rather liked keeping his head in the sand as this particular moment in time. If he stopped to think, it would just hurt too damned much. He couldn't even bring himself to call any of his friends to see if any one else important in his life had been killed. He simply didn't want to know. Best just to surround himself with those he could look after in the here and now.

He buzzed to get into ICU. When he reached the door, he saw his father asleep and Bobby half dozing in the chair that he knew from personal experience sucked for sleeping in. His father was looking a lot better and that eased his concern immensely. No matter that Bobby and Jim had both reassured him his father was doing better, he didn't realize just how worried he had been until he felt something in his chest loosen.

Sam crossed over to the old mechanic. "Bobby," Sam said softly.

Bobby opened one eye and looked at him. Bobby kept his voice equally quiet so as not to wake his friend. "Bout time you got here."

"Good to see you too. How's your head?" Sam asked.

"Hurts like a two day hangover instead of a three day hangover. Doc said it's fine, just one helluva lump," Bobby said getting to his feet and stretching. He picked up the prescription beside the chair and slid it into his pocket. He would take another painkiller once he was back at the motel.

"Go get some rest Bobby. I'll be staying awhile," Sam told him and handed over the keys to the Impala and motioned Bobby toward the door.

After taking the keys, Bobby shoved a flask into Sam's hand.

"I don't need a drink," Sam said, furrowing his brow.

"It ain't liquor you idjet. It's holy water," Bobby said.

Dropping the flask into his pocket, Sam walked Bobby to just outside the door. "I asked Jim, and I'm going to ask you. I made some real progress with Dean. I'd like you to try to treat him more like he's human than he's some demon."

"Ain't we been over this once?" Bobby asked.

Sam gave a nod. "Yeah, but I've learned a lot from him in the past hours. I'm still processing it all, and I want to talk with Dad about it. Just, don't ask him any questions about his orders. If he doesn't answer, and he won't because he said his boss will know, he expects to be beaten or punished. Please, Bobby, will you try?"

Bobby glared at Sam. "After what he did to your daddy—"

"He had his orders," Sam interrupted. "And he didn't have any reason to fight them. He does, now. Bobby, I know he can be brutal. He was ungodly brutal, but I need him Bobby. I need my brother. If we believe in him, and his boss is dead, he can change. I know he can. And that brings me to another question. Any ideas how to kill a demon?"

Bobby scratched his beard and gave a sigh. "All right. You're a lunatic, but both you damned Winchesters are lunatics. I'll try to be civil-like to him. As for taking out a demon, I got a feeling my little mojo juice might do the trick."

Sam thought back to how his own blood reacted. Yeah. Bobby was probably right. "Good. Then we need to figure out a delivery system that demonic powers can't brush aside."

"One miracle at a time," Bobby snorted.

"How's Dad doing?" Sam asked, glancing in at his father. It looked like his dad was beginning to stir.

"Doing good for the most part. Worried as hell about you. 'Tween Jim and I, he's pretty much up to date on the happenings. He's still sleeping a lot. Docs say they might move him out of ICU in a couple more days so long as he doesn't have any set backs. With the heart attack and all the trauma he suffered, they just want to keep him in here a bit longer."

"Thanks, Bobby. When you head to the church after you've gotten some rest, you might want to pick up some ice for those sandwiches I bought. And I asked Jim to try to get us some hot water in the church."

"We got our coffee pot and camping stove. What else we need?" Just how soft had the boy become that he couldn't wash his hands and face in cold water for Chrissakes?

"If we're keeping Dean chained up down there for who know how long, we ought to give him some hot water to be able to wash off with." Sam braced himself for Bobby's explosion at the suggestion. He was shocked when Bobby gave him a hard stare and sighed.

Grumbling under his breath, Bobby rolled his eyes. Hell, he would appreciate the hot water as well he supposed and it wouldn't be that hard to do. And his head just hurt too much to argue with the boy anymore. Sam was determined and a determined Winchester was impossible to dissuade from his goal. "All right, I'll get a small water heater we can hook up to one of the faucets, but don't you be asking for a god-damned shower or something for him."

Sam grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "Of course not," Sam said innocently. "You're a saint."

"Yeah. St. Robert. That's me," Bobby muttered. "Crazy is more like it. Look after your old man, Sam." With a yawn, Bobby headed out of the ICU.

Sam turned to find his father's dark eyes watching him and returned his smile. "Hey, yourself."

As Sam crossed over to him, Sam reached in his pocket and pulled out the candy bar. "King-sized. Like I promised." He handed his father the Snickers bar. He felt suddenly awkward, too much in his brain wanting to come out all at once. The last time he spilled his guts, his father reacted badly. He better take this slow. If his dad had reacted so badly to learning his eldest son was alive, how was he going to react to learning his youngest son had demon blood in him?

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, not sure how else to start the conversation he needed to have. If his Dad was feeling bad, maybe he had best just keep the truth to himself for now.

* * *

John couldn’t help but laugh softly when his son pulled out the candy bar from his pocket that he’d promised him. Taking the king sized Snicker’s bar from the younger man gratefully he pulled part of the wrapper off right away and took a bite with a small groan of pleasure. Already having had more than enough of the damned hospital food than he could stand.

“Just what I needed, this hospital food is going to kill me before anything else.” The elder man joked with a slight grin, before answering his son seriously. “Better. Sore as hell when the drugs wear off, but I’ll live, don’t worry.”

From what Bobby and Jim had been telling him, he was the least thing Sam should be worrying about right now. Jim had filled him in about what had happened to Sam’s friend and his girlfriend, and afterwards John recalled bits and pieces of Sam telling him the same. Must have been right before his second… or was it third, brush with death.

There had been something else too. Something about the… man… they’d captured and were holding prisoner. The man who’d tortured him, who had powers only a demon should possess. Between the demon thing they had locked in the basement of the church they were holed up in and the attack on Sam, John knew he was rightly worried about his son.

Bobby had been a bit sketchy about the details of the attack, but John assumed the demons had come to rescue one of their own, as odd as that seemed. But John still didn’t understand why his son would be a target in the first place, first at the mill and then in the parking lot of a motel.

“How are you doing? Bobby told me about what happened at the church.”

* * *

"I'm still…it's still a lot to take in," Sam admitted. "I'm okay. Mostly."

The church. Bobby didn't know shit about what happened at the church, not really. He didn't know the demon nearly choked the life out of Sam. Didn't know a lot of things.

His father looked well, had decent color, seemed in good spirits, but painkillers would do that. Sam decided to plunge forward, but this time he would watch his father closely and if his father looked like it was too much, Sam would back off. Sam pulled the chair up to his father's bedside.

"Yeah. The church. The demon was torturing Dean when I got there. Threw me up against the wall, was choking me and I blacked out. Dean broke free of it because…" Sam wasn't entirely certain, but he thought he recalled feeling a flash of power before he passed out. What ever he did, it apparently let Dean get free. "…well he broke free of the demon's powers and killed it, saving me, saving Bobby, saving himself."

He paused, seeing the confusion in his father's eyes. Crap, hadn't Bobby or Jim told him about Dean? That Dean was John's son? Of course not. They hardly believed it themselves and they knew that information was in part what triggered John's heart attack in the first place. He was going to have to explain and see how his father handled it this time before he told John the news that was just really going to freak him out beyond anything.

"The man we have in the church is Dean, Dad. Our Dean. My brother. Your son. I told you right before you had the…heart attack, but I guess you don't remember. Dean was kidnapped by a demon, raised by it. The thing did something, put demon blood into Dean and that gives Dean his abilities." He saw the pain of the terrible knowledge crease John's face.

"You couldn't have known, Dad." Sam rested his hand on his father's arm and squeezed gently. "You can't blame yourself. It's not your fault. There was absolutely no reason to think Dean was kidnapped, that he didn't die in that fire like Mom did." The look in his father's eyes told Sam that his father still blamed himself and Sam didn't think anything he could say would ever change it.

Sam chewed on his lip a minute. Should he tell him? Was it going to be too much? Should Sam tell his father that he had dreamed about his brother for as long as he could remember? That the terrible scar he bore on his back was from Dean's and his inexplicable bond? That not just Dean had demon in him?

If he was going to drop any kind of bomb on his father, it was best to drop the one most salient to their current situation. Sam's current situation. That was the one he most needed help with. The other shit could wait for another day.

"Dad," Sam finally said, "it…it did something to me too I guess. Unless you never told me we had a demon in the family," Sam joked weakly. His voice dropped almost to a whisper as he hesitantly continued. "I…have abilities. I have demon blood in me, too. And I think that's why they're after me. They're trying to take me to some demon. I think the same one that kidnapped Dean. I'm scared, Dad. I'm really scared," Sam finished softly struggling to hold back his tears. He wanted to ask his dad so many things, but he had no idea where to start or if his father, whom he always considered nearly infallible when it came to knowledge about the Supernatural, would know the answers this time.

* * *

John nodded slightly. Though he wasn’t quite sure he believed his son when Sam said he was “OK.” Pretty sure the younger man was only telling him what he thought he wanted to hear, but willing to let it go for now. Considering all the time they’d been apart, not to mention how often they’d been at odds even when they’d been together, he couldn’t really blame Sam for not wanting to confide in him.

That didn’t mean John wasn’t going to be there if Sam ever decided to change his mind. He was determined to do things right this time. John knew he had a lot to make up for, he could only hope that Sam would give him a chance to.

John Winchester was a man who liked to believe he was prepared for just about anything. So when Sam started to talk about what happened at the church, at first he didn’t so much as blink. But when his brain caught up with his ears and John did a double take.

The demon was torturing… Dean… Just hearing his oldest son’s name still caused him pain even after all these years, but hearing it applied to that… man… sent alarm bells ringing in his head that John didn’t want to examine at all. A cold sick feeling already forming in his stomach before Sam pushed on confirming what his mind was already trying to deny without even acknowledging. Dean… his son… that man… He did remember. Now. The horrible painful truth Sam had revealed to him before that his heart literally couldn’t take. His son… dear god…

John barely felt Sam’s hand on his arm. Barely heard the younger man’s reassurances that he couldn’t have known, that he couldn’t blame himself for not having saved his boy, for not having even _looked_ for him… merely given him up as dead, to a demon… His wife killed, his son stolen… _stolen_ and turned into that… thing… and John had never tried to find him. Who else was to blame? Who?

If he’d thought nothing could have hit him harder, when Sam went on to say that the demon… did something to him. That Sam had the same abilities as… Dean… Why they, the demons, were after his son. Both his… sons… Dear god… But no matter what he felt, confusion, horror, pain, it was nothing compared to the fear he saw in his younger son’s eyes now looking at him, pleading. Looking at him in a way John hadn’t seen in years. His son needed him. Needed his father.

John pushed down the guilt that was eating him alive. Pushed down the pain that felt like it was crushing his heart to dust. Pushed down the confusion and the mind numbing fear Sam’s revelation had built in him. John covered his son’s hand on his arm with his own. Determination flashing in his eyes.

“We’ll figure this out, Sam. I promise. No matter what, you’re still my son. Nothing changes that. Nothing.” Even if it were true, even if a demon had done something to his boy, no matter what Sam was still his son. His… son… Dean… If possible the elder man’s eyes grew even more determined.

“Sam, I want you to page the doctor and see if you can get me some clothes.” John said even as he started pulling the various sensors and monitors off him. He’d sat here on his ass long enough. His son… sons… needed him.

* * *

For just a moment Sam thought that his Dad was going to just crumple in on himself. Again. That the heart monitor was going to go off and the nurses and doctors would be in, and Sam would be left alone again, watching, helpless, as his father battled death. He would be left alone to fend off the demons, try to learn from Dean quickly, and try to protect both of them—and Jim and Bobby—from the attacks that were sure to come.

When he saw John stiffen, straighten, and put his hand on Sam's, the breath rushed out of him. The determination in his father's eyes heartened him more than he thought anything could. Still his son…had he been afraid that maybe his father would turn away from him, now, when he so desperately needed him? Hell they couldn't stop their head-butting before when there were no complicating factors. But Sam had been a teen and he had matured a lot. He didn't just blow up at the littlest things his father said. Well, maybe he would, but they would work through it. He didn't want to lose his father. Not now. He needed him so much. Almost as much as he needed Dean…

Eyes widening at John made his intentions known, Sam shook his head. "Dad, you can't leave. Not yet. You're in ICU for God's sake. You just had a heart attack. You've still got second degree burns that are healing, stitches down in your muscles, and they're feeding you straight antibiotics through the IV. You've got broken or at least cracked bones. Please Dad, at least stay until they're ready to move you to a regular room!" Sam pleaded. "We can start here, just as easily as at the motel or church."

Why had he told his father? Why hadn't he told Bobby or Jim? His dad shouldn't be worrying like this. He should be sleeping and getting better, not trying to walk out of the damned hospital. But Sam knew why. Because he did need to know that his father would stand by him, that his father would help him. Because he was really scared when Dean taught him how to wield his powers that he might like it a little too much. That he might become the sort of thing that hunters hunted. That he might go as darkside as Dean. How could he save his brother if he fell into the same damned pit? …And what would the elder hunters—his father included—say when they found out Dean was going to teach him?

* * *

John wasn’t all that surprised when Sam started to protest, trying to change his mind about leaving the hospital now because of his condition. He’d been prepared for them, and had been fully prepared to counter his son’s arguments with his own. But when Sam started to list off all his various injuries John couldn’t help but wince slightly.

Injuries his own… son… had caused him. Dean… his four year old boy who’s death he’d mourned for the last twenty years. Instead kidnapped by a demon… raised by a demon… His sweet little boy turned into that… thing…

The elder man didn’t want to think about it and at the same time h couldn’t stop thinking of it. He didn’t want to remember that man’s face and equate it with his boy’s. Didn’t want to remember the pain Dean had caused him, had enjoyed causing him. Laughing as he threatened to cut him into little pieces while he was still breathing as bait to capture his own brother.

He’d failed Dean in the worst possible way twenty years ago. He’d failed Sam nearly as badly all of his younger son’s life. Until a few days ago he would have sworn Sam hated him and wouldn’t have cared to see him dead, but Sam had come after him. Was here now. Needed him, and god damn it he was going to be there for his boys for once in his life.

But right now Sam was begging him not to leave the hospital and deep down he knew the younger man was right. Despite his stubbornness he probably wouldn’t have been able to walk out of this room much less the hospital under his own power. If he left and complications arose, even something as simple as an infection could easily kill him right now. He would be no use to anyone if he was dead.

With a sigh, John relented and relaxed back against the pillows of his bed though his expression was anything but happy.

“All right.” John agreed with a heavy sigh, his mind racing, trying to figure out what he could do, if anything from here. Well, one thing was for certain, sooner or later more demons would be coming. Either for Dean, or Sam, or both of them.

“You need to get… Dean… out of that church. It’s not safe there. If the demons know where he is, where you are, you have to leave. Even if it’s only a few towns over. It will be safer for both of you.”

* * *

Sam was relieved to see his father back down and agree to stay in the hospital. More than just relieved, almost shocked. Either his father was feeling so much worse than Sam wanted to believe, or the four years of training to be a lawyer had paid off. He suspected it was the former.

Moving Dean though? That was going to be a problem. Not like they could take him in chains to a motel. Well, they could if they were really careful. Maybe. They could handcuff him to the bed or something. It looked like the shackles were overkill. Then again, he had slipped handcuffs once. Maybe handcuff the chains to the bed and leave him in the shackles? They would have to move any potential weapons out of his reach. Unless Sam could convince Bobby and Jim to let him take care of Dean on his own. Yeah. Right. Fat chance of that.

His father was right, though Sam wasn't really sure it would matter where they moved to unless they went on the run. Even that was no guarantee. If the demons got a hold of his father again, Sam would be back in the same situation Dean had put him in.

He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated with the options. All of them sucked. Let Dean out of his chains and he would potentially go after Jim, Bobby, and his father. Sam would be safe…until Dean had killed the elder hunters and decided it was time to take Sam to this Demon master of his. Stay at the church, which was reasonably well fortified but since they had to leave to go to the motel and the hospital, each trip increased the likelihood that a demon spotted one of them, if the demons didn't already know where they were. Obviously a couple of them did. He supposed they could just stay holed up in the church. And that option sucked too. Stay in the church for another few weeks until his dad was strong enough to move? And then what? What the hell were they supposed to do?

He knew his father thought Dean was barely human. Every time he hesitated before calling him Dean, it was obvious it was a struggle. Sam couldn't blame him. His father hadn't seen any side of Dean that wasn't almost demonic, but he needed to convince him that his brother wasn't lost to them.

"Dad, Dean has shown me he can be kind and considerate. He's not a monster through and through. …I never told you, but growing up, pretty much for as long as I can remember, I dreamed of a boy. He was a few years older than me and was a prisoner. I would dream about him, be there for him when he was sad and hurt. And he would be here for me when I was sad or hurt. I don't know that I ever thought he was really real. I kind of thought of him as an imaginary friend.

"I don't know if one of the nights I woke up crying, maybe I mentioned him to you. If I did, I don't remember." Sam shrugged, focusing on the floor. He had his own guilt to deal with. "It was Dean, Dad. Maybe if I'd told you about him, hell, even called you in one time he was there…I don't know though, since nobody else seemed to see him. Just like none of the demons saw me when I was with Dean. But if I had just told you about him, you might have known it was Dean. We might have been able to save him.

"When I saw him at the old mill, I recognized him. He recognized me. It's taken us both some time to sort it out, to believe it, but the evidence is pretty indisputable. We've been best friends all our lives. He cares about me. I care about him."

He wasn't sure how his father would react to the next thing he told him, but his dad needed to know, to understand that moving Dean might be a bad idea. "…I was going to let him out of his chains and take him out of the church. I wanted him to promise he wouldn't hurt you or Jim or Bobby before I let him out. He told me even if he promised, I couldn't trust him and he begged me not to unlock him. So I didn't. I don't know if we can safely move him. I don't know if--I don't know what he'll try if we do. And one of us needs to stay with you. You are as much a target as the rest of us."

* * *

“Sam…” John had absolutely no idea what to say. How to take what his son was telling him. About that… about Dean… the man who could possibly be his eldest son.

He wanted to believe so badly, but he had to be realistic. One of them had to. He was doubtful, so very doubtful about all of this. It wasn’t just his own feelings of guilt, the memory of the pain and torture that man had put him through, and the idea of the horrors his boy would have faced in the hands of a demon all these years.

He wanted to believe that his son was really alive. That he wasn’t… a monster… the demons had made him into. But it could easily all be a trick. For what purpose, John didn’t know, but what proof did they have that man was really Dean? What proof could Sam have that he wasn’t really a monster?

Kind… there had been nothing kind in that face, in those eyes, that John had been forced to look into for hours while he screamed. He wanted to believe, oh god, he wanted to believe Sam was right. He wanted to see for himself. He wanted to see Dean’s face again, look into those eyes, and see something different. He wanted to see what Sam saw.

But what if it was all a trick? What Sam told him about the boy… a boy Sam had dreamed about… John wasn’t all that surprised anymore about his earlier heart attack. He honestly wasn’t sure how many more shocks he could take right now. Another failure. If Sam had only trusted him enough to tell him about the boy… they might have…

John’s eyes widened when Sam went on to tell him that he’d almost released Dean. How could Sam have taken such a risk! If it had all been a trick, a trap, then Sam could be dead or worse by now. But the elder man’s anger and fear over what Sam had nearly done was tempered by the shock when his son went on to tell him that _Dean_ had begged Sam not to release him. John could think of no real advantage to such a strategy.

Dear god. John closed his eyes, took a deep breath to try to center himself. Tried to stop his thoughts from wildly running out of control. Sam had told him now. Sam trusted him enough now, and that was something he never had before. The least he could do was trust Sam in return. If Sam said there was proof, if Sam said Dean wasn’t a monster…

“All right.” John said, running his hand through his hair trying to think of options. If they couldn’t move Dean, and there was a good chance the demons already knew or would find out soon where they were, the only other option really was to turn that church in to a veritable fortress.

“What kinds of protections are already in place at the church? Whatever hasn’t been done, do it. Look for any protection spells or symbols you can. There’s plenty to start with in my journal. It was in the glove box of my truck. If you can’t find it I’m sure Bobby and Jim can come up with plenty on their own.

“Once that’s done, I think it would be best for the time being if you stayed there. Don’t leave the church except when absolutely necessary. They came after me to get to you, you’re obviously their main target, we don’t need to give them extra chances to paint a bull’s eye on you. Bobby and Jim can take turns coming here if they need to, but I don’t want you to worry about me. Some etchings and protection symbols in this room might not be a bad idea though.

“We might also want to start calling other hunters. Warning them if they don’t already know about the demons targeting them. A few extra hunters who might be willing to stay in the area and watch out for demon activity wouldn’t hurt either if you can convince any of them.”

* * *

Sam nodded at his father's suggestion of staying in the church. It did sound the most reasonable. It would also give Dean time to teach Sam how to control his powers. He thought that might be a little much for his father to learn about right now and decided to just keep that to himself. He was most afraid his dad would tell him "no", and he didn't want to go against his father's wishes. Dean was right, he suspected. He would hurt someone if he didn't at least learn to control it. Besides, he could tell that his news had his father reeling.

If he was staying in the church he could use a cot, though frankly, he would probably sleep with Dean on that nasty mattress if Jim and Bobby weren't around. Maybe he could find a better mattress for them. Air mattresses. That was the answer. And he would like a camp shower for himself if possible. He was glad he asked for them to get some hot water in the place. Okay so he needed to hit some stores and do some major stocking up on supplies if he was going to be stuck in that church for a week or more. Better pick up some more clothes too. And blankets. And propane. And food…

Sam listed off what they had done at the church so far and was pleased by the approval he saw in his father's eyes. Funny how a week ago he probably wouldn't have cared. But right here, right now, it meant a lot to him.

"Bobby got your truck and hid it away. Figured it might be something of a target. I'll have him get your journal, and he probably has more runes and sigils in his head than ten of your journals."

More hunters. Hell, he didn't know any hunters anymore. Well, he knew a few, but didn't have any of their numbers. Calling in hunters would be up to Jim and Bobby to handle.

He had enough runes and sigils in his own memory that he could get started on his father's room, drawing small, discreet things on the walls, around the windows, and the door frame. What he didn't remember, his father could help him with. And his father could probably help him put together a shopping list. He had several hours before Jim would come to relieve him. He didn't like the idea he wouldn't be able to see his father for a couple weeks. Well, dammit, he could call him though. And he would.

"Dad," Sam said, getting started on putting some very small runes along the window frame, small enough he didn't think the nurses or cleaning folk would readily notice, "no matter how this all plays out, I'm glad we had a chance to see each other again. I know when you're better we'll probably back at each other's throat." He gave his father a smirk. "Bobby says we're too much a like. And no, this isn't some 'final goodbye speech.' I'm just saying we …we took too long to burying the hatchet. You never even got to meet my… girlfriend. I was going to invite you to the wedding." He swallowed hard. "If we get pissed at each other again, let's not take so long to get over it this next time, okay? Let's both just suck it up and put it behind us. After we've cooled down for a few weeks. Just try to remember, I'm not a kid anymore."

Sam gave him another smile before he went back to work. He had long hours ahead of him, getting his father protected and discussing supplies and strategies with him. And he made himself promise he would try not to argue with his father.

* * *

John was pleased when Sam didn’t argue with his suggestion of staying in the church, from past experience he’d almost been expecting some kind of argument or protest. When was the last time he remembered Sam simply agreeing to do what he said without questioning him, even if it was for the younger man’s own good?

He was glad to hear that his truck was ok. He’d put a lot of time and money into it as well as the weapons in it. It would have been difficult to replace everything. If they hadn’t already, they should take some of those weapons and put them in the church, hopefully the extra firepower wouldn’t be needed but just in case. John had to chuckle softly and nod in agreement that his journal probably wouldn’t be necessary with Bobby around.

He watched Sam as he started drawing a few protection symbols around the room, starting with the window. Listening as his son spoke. Almost wanting to interrupt because though Sam denied it that’s exactly what it sounded like, like his son wasn’t expecting to see him again when he walked out that door. But he didn’t interrupt, he listened. Smiling a little in spite of himself, yeah, he supposed they were probably too much alike. Why they were always butting heads…

Maybe, despite the circumstances, being away from each other for six years had been something of a blessing. No, Sam definitely wasn’t a child anymore. The hot tempered teen he remembered replaced by a man.

John swallowed hard, knowing it would be one of the greatest regrets in his life that he hadn’t been able to meet the woman who might have become his daughter in law. He didn’t want anything like that to ever happen again. He promised himself from now on, one way or another, he’d always be there for Sam… and Dean… He had a second chance. Something most men weren’t lucky enough to get. He wasn’t going to waste it.


	5. Chapter 5

  


After Sam left to see his father and Jim provided his sleeping bag to the young man, Jim busied himself with straightening the church. The church had once been a beautiful building and the pastor in him wanted to clean what had once been a holy gathering place. If he enhanced it as a place of protection against demons along the way, all the better. His injured shoulder made the work go slowly but it wasn't as if he had any other pressing business.

He had been working for hours when his grumbling stomach finally reminded him it might be time to break his fast. Glancing at his watch he was startled by how much time had passed. He ought to think about getting himself cleaned up and ready to relieve Sam at the hospital.

Beyond brushing the dirt and dust from his clothes, all he could really do was wash his face and hands and run a comb through his hair to make himself presentable. If he was hungry surely the man chained below was as well. Ashamedly, he realized he hadn't he even checked to see if the man needed water.

He was walking over to the cooler when his phone rang. Checking the caller ID, he greeted the young man warmly when he answered the call. "Hello Samuel. I'm sorry, the time got away from me. I'll be there…"

"Actually Jim, I need you to stay for right now. Bobby and I are just about done shopping. We'll be there soon, and I have a few things I need to talk to both of you about."

"Okay, Sam," Jim said, mildly curious, but content to wait. "How is Jonathon doing?"

Sam gave a soft laugh, "He's doing well. Managed to stay awake more than he slept. We got to talk a lot. How's Dean?"

"I was just getting ready to take him his dinner."

"Thanks, Jim. We're only about fifteen minutes out. Talk to you in a few."

"See you then."

After ending the call, Jim dug into the cooler and pulled out a couple sandwiches not sure what all Sam purchased for them, but quite grateful the young man had been so thoughtful. It looked like Jim had his choice of just about anything he could want as far as deli sandwiches went. The reuben sounded quite good. After a moment of indecision he took out a turkey sandwich for Dean, hoping their guest liked turkey. He put the sandwiches, some chips, a couple candy bars and some soda into a bag and then he walked to the basement and down its steps. The young man in chains immediately looked up, watching Jim's every move.

"I thought you might be hungry. I know I am." Jim strode over to the table and set down the meals.

"I've got a reuben and a turkey sandwich, but there's italian, ham, pastrami, roast beef. I think there's another reuben up in the cooler, too. I brought you a turkey sandwich but if something else sounds better…?"

Jim wasn't surprised when Dean did nothing more than stare at him indifferently from where he sat, leaning against the wall.

"All right, turkey it is." Jim tossed the turkey sandwich, the chips, can of soda, and the candy bar one at a time to Dean.

Returning to the table, Jim sat down facing Dean, and striped the cellophane from his own sandwich. Although he couldn't move his shoulder, his hand was fine and he was able to get the chips open without too much difficulty. He saw Dean's wariness of the meal Jim had provided.

Jim sighed. "Sam would never forgive me if I tried to poison you. It's safe. One-hundred percent safe." Jim gave him a kind smile. "I doubt you care, but I forgive you for trying to kill me. I know, at least from what Sam says, that you may try again if you get free of those chains. But you're following orders, and I understand that. I do hope Sam is able to win you over to our side, and I do hope there may come a day when I can shake your hand without worry." Jim paused to take a few bites of his sandwich. It was surprisingly good.

"I can't say I've forgiven you for what you did to John," Jim said quietly. "That's going to take longer, and take a bit more effort on your part to prove to us Sam's belief in you isn't misguided. If it is…" Jim's face grew momentarily dark. "Well, I pray that it isn't. John needs his son back and Sam needs his brother. John…John will forgive you. The man is as stubborn as a mule, but he has mourned your loss for so many years, that to find you alive is miraculous. The man is like my brother and I know he will want to get to know you. John can deny it all he wants, but some of that soft side of Samuel comes right from John." Jim smiled again. "And that means you have it, too. You may have demon blood in you, son, but you have Winchester blood first. That makes you family. If you prove to us that you truly want to be part of this family, we will welcome you."

Jim slowly ate more of his meal. "If there is anything you need that I can safely provide, I will try. You merely have to ask."

Pausing to drink some of his soda, he continued. "I hope you can eventually forgive Bobby and me for what we did to you. We had no idea the solution would react so violently. We did not mean to cause you so much pain and nearly poison you. Though to my shame, I will admit I couldn't help but think at the time it was well deserved for what you did to John and for all the other hunters you have killed. If you weren't Samuel's brother and Jonathon's son, things would be very different. But Sam believes in you and I believe in Sam. And so here we are. I hope we are not forced to face one another is battle again. The death of you or I would pain Samuel greatly and I know neither of us wants that. That much I can see in your eyes."

Jim stared at Dean a moment, studying him. "I hadn't noticed before, but now that you're calm, I see that you have your mother's eyes. I never actually met her, but I have seen Mary's picture and her eyes were the same shade of green as your own. In fact, you do look a little like her. You've got her finer bone structure while Sam most definitely takes more after John.

"Sam called a few minutes ago. He'll be here soon. Since he and Bobby went shopping, I would guess that hot water Sam asked for will be available for you before you know it." Jim finished off the last of his sandwich and potato chips, then devoured the candy bar. Chocolate and wine, his two major vices. He gathered his trash and tossed it into the nearby bucket.

"Before I go back upstairs, do you need anything else? There are more sandwiches if you're still hungry. Chips, candy bars, soda, water?" Jim asked Dean.

* * *

Having not much else to do during the long day while Sam was gone, Dean had slept most of the day. It was better than staring at the wall, or watching how the little bit of light that filtered through the small dirty windows shifted along the floor as the hours slowly passed.

Without Sam here to distract him, his thoughts delved into places he really didn’t want to go. Fears and worries now plagued his mind that he’d never had to consider before now. Because he’d never cared about anything or anyone but himself before. With Sam here it was easy to ignore his fears of what would happen to him once his father found him, and what would happen to Sam once Azazel got his hands on the younger man. It was easy to forget about his orders and his uncertainty what would happen once he was forced to choose… to obey his father’s wishes or protect Sam…

Dean much preferred the oblivion of sleep, even with the nightmares that plagued it. Though occasionally he’d wake up due to a noise he’d hear from above, made by the hunter who’d been left to babysit him, or from a nightmare. It always set him on edge, remembering all too well Dumah’s attack on the church and knowing it was only a matter of time before more demons came.

That tension made it harder to just fall back to sleep. It made him restless. Made his skin almost feel like it was vibrating and he had absolutely no way right now to release that energy.

Dean heard the sound of a phone ring from above, heard the faint sound of the hunter’s voice, though he couldn’t understand the words he hoped it meant that Sam was returning soon. Sitting here like this was beginning to drive him crazy.

His muscles tensed when he heard the hunter’s footsteps approaching the stairs, his eyes snapping to the doorway and narrowing a little when the other man appeared and began to descend the stairs. What the hell did he want? After handing him over the sleeping bag he’d promised Sam the hunter had left him alone, thankfully. So why was he here now? If Sam was going to be here soon anyway… Or maybe the call had been about the opposite, and that’s why the other hunter was here, taking care of the “pet” while his master was away. Maybe Sam wasn’t coming back at all tonight and Dean’s heart plummeted a little at that thought.

Not bothering to answer the other man’s question of whether or not he was hungry, or what he wanted to eat. Like the hunter really cared about either. He almost told the older man to fuck off, but remembered Sam’s request that he try to remain “civil” so Dean merely stared at the other man. Giving nothing away. Catching the items of food easily when they were thrown at him, but he didn’t start eating, even when the other hunter sat down at the table like he had before. Only before, Sam had been here. Now it was only the two of them, and Dean could think of absolutely no reason why the other man would want to eat in his presence, except maybe to watch him choke on his food.

When the hunter reassured him the food was “safe” Dean gave a snort of doubt that was more for show than anything else, because he knew the other man was telling the truth. That Sam would not forgive him if he tried to poison him again, so Dean started to unwrap his own sandwich, if only so he had something to do to occupy himself and make it easier to ignore the hunter. Though to be honest, he was hungry, though he hadn’t really noticed before. He was so used to the irregularities of his meals that he often didn’t register small pangs of hunger anymore, it usually took a couple days of starvation for him really notice it.

No, he honestly didn’t care whether or not the other man “forgave” him for trying to kill him. What was he trying to do now, bore him to death? Poisoning him would have been quicker, and more merciful, in Dean’s opinion.

It was all Dean could do not to roll his eyes as the other man talked about John Winchester and his “forgiveness”. Like he really cared what the man he’d tortured cared about him, if the older man had… mourned… for him. Family… he didn’t need a family… didn’t want a family. All he wanted was Sam. As far as Dean was concerned the rest of them could all take their forgiveness and shove it up their asses. What little bit of human blood was left in him didn’t mean a thing, and they were all fucking hypocrites anyway. They only tolerated him because of Sam, if Sam cast him out they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him or worse, and once they found out about the demon blood in Sam… they would both be outcasts from this little “family”.

Dean froze however when the other man mentioned his… mother. That word meant absolutely nothing to him. Even less so than the word “father” did. At least in the human terms. Still, it made him uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t explain. Made him want to avoid meeting the other man’s eyes if only so the hunter would stop comparing them to another’s.

He visibly relaxed when the hunter told him that Sam would be here soon. He was even more glad when the other man appeared to be finished with his meal and appeared to be leaving now. Not a moment too soon.

“No.” Dean answered the hunter’s question if he needed anything simply, without looking up. He didn’t need anything. He just wanted the man to go.

* * *

It took the three of them close to fifteen minutes to get everything unloaded from the Impala and into the church. Jim looked on in amazement at plethora of items. Air mattresses, water heater, electric heaters, food, water, paper, blankets, clothes, pipes, tools, herbs, bullets, knives… It seemed unending.

"Did you buy out Walmart?" Jim asked Bobby as he looked around at the pile of things they had dragged in.

Bobby snorted. "Damned near. A few other places too. I forgot how much that car can hold."

The two men began carrying the items deeper into the church. After Sam's return from hiding the car, he aided in getting the last of the items into one of the spare rooms.

"So what's going on?" Jim asked as they collapsed into chairs.

Taking a deep breath, Sam began to relate to them his father's thoughts about moving, how that wasn't feasible, and therefore the resulting fortification of the church. "We decided that since you were injured and the church is much more likely to be attacked than the hospital, you, Jim, should be the one to look after Dad. Bobby and I will stay here and protect Dean…and me." Sam knew he had to tell them, but it felt so hard. "They're after me. They want to take me in to some demon. Maybe this yellow eyed one I saw."

"If that's the case," Bobby said, "why didn't the thing just grab you at your apartment?"

"I'm not really sure, this is just a guess, but I think it wanted to push me. It killed Jessica and my friends and then sent my own brother after our dad with orders to kill him and the two of you. I don't know if you were picked out specifically or just fall into the category of kill all hunters. Dad, he was chosen to get me within Dean's reach. And I think to push me, make me angry, make me desperate…make me discover the abilities I have." Sam hesitated then looked between the men. "I have demon blood in me, too."

Jim and Bobby stared at him, their jaws slack.

"It must have done something to me just before it kidnapped Dean. I can't control these abilities, but Dean says I've got more power than anyone he's ever seen. I'm guessing he's seen a lot, so that's kind of scary. I don't have any control over them." Sam gave a half-hearted laugh. "Just don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry." He grimaced. "Just call me the Hulk."

Jim recovered first and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. "How about we call you David Banner? He was a kind man who tried to help people and even the Hulk that he turned into tried to help people."

"You really," Bobby started, blanched, and tried again. "You have these demon powers like that –like Dean?"

"Well, he's got a finesse approach. I have a sledge hammer. Or as he put it, a battering ram," Sam said with a nod. "I'm…I'm going to have to learn how to use them."

"No!" Bobby said. "Absolutely not! Are you crazy, Boy?"

"Bobby," Sam pleaded, "I get upset, and things just happen. Maybe use them is the wrong thing to say. I have to learn to control them or I'm going to hurt someone. I don't have a choice and," he swung his gaze to Jim, "Dad doesn't need to know that I'm going to train with these abilities, okay? I laid enough on him today. When he's a little better and stronger, but not yet."

Jim didn't look any happier than Bobby but agreed. "So how, exactly, are you going to learn to control them, Mr. Banner," Jim asked.

Sam's gaze dropped away from his friends. "Dean's offered to show me."

"You're playing right into their hands! This could be a set up from the get go!" Bobby fumed.

"Don't you think I know that?" Sam snapped. "This demon wants me to come into my powers and he's forcing my hand. I don't have a choice!"

"Of course you have a choice!" Bobby said. "You say 'no'!"

Of course he wanted to say "no!" He would love nothing more than to forget he had demon blood, love nothing more than to be normal, and go back to his apartment and his girlfriend and his friends. That's all he'd ever wanted to be. Just normal, dammit! But it was gone. All of it. Literally turned to ash in the case of Jessica and their home. And it was his fault. It was his fault his mother had died, his fault his brother had been taken, his fault Jessica and Mike were dead, and his fault his father had been tortured to within an inch of his life. Sam felt a small bubble energy flare inside him as Bobby's words echoed in his ears.

An old half rotted cabinet behind Bobby exploded into splinters.

Bobby and Jim both grabbed weapons and dove for cover. Sam stood where he'd been, his head down. He would never, ever be normal again.

"Sorry. That was me," Sam said softly. "I'm a grenade ready to go off. I have to let him teach me. It's getting worse. It's taking less and less to make it erupt. Like that."

Bobby and Jim both stared wide-eyed at him. Jim cleared his throat. "We don't like it, Sam, but I guess we don't have any choice."

Sam bit back his anger with effort. "It wouldn't be your choice, Jim. I'm twenty three. I am not a fucking ten year old. I value you and Bobby's opinions very much, but I am not a child anymore. It is my choice."

Bobby measured Sam. "I could make a bag for you, too. It would keep your powers under lock and key. Wouldn't have to put the curse on it. You could take it off when you wanted."

Nodding a little at Bobby, he said. "That's not a bad idea for down the road, but the demons are going to come for me. It isn't a question of 'if' but of 'when.' Hell, I don't know, maybe even big bad-ass himself will show. These hex bags aren't going to hide us forever. Demons found us once. They'll find us—find me—again. I need to know how these powers work. Maybe I can figure out how to counter them, or hold a demon long enough we can get a bag over its neck." Running a hand through his hair, Sam slowly shook his head. "After all this is over, I might take you up on that bag. And if you two see me get out of control, really out of control, do what you have to. But not until after this demon is handled. I promised Dean I would get him free of his…master." That's what Dean was, after all, Sam realized. A slave. He was a soldier, surely, but first he was the demon's slave.

"Please," Sam asked. "I need you to stand by me on this. I'm freaked enough."

After a moment Bobby stepped forward and gave Sam a big bear hug. "Fool kid. 'Course we'll stand by you. 'Course we'll knock you upside the head too, when you need it. And Sammy, I don't care how old you get, how smart you are, how good of a hunter you are, you will always be Sammy to me. I do trust you, Sam. That—your brother wouldn't still be alive if I didn't. And I sure as hell wouldn't be holing up with you for God knows how long ready to fight off an army of demons if I didn't know you was all grown up and able to handle yourself just fine."

"I'm right there with Bobby, Samuel," Jim said. "You know we're here for you. If you feel as if you're getting out of control, tell us. Even if the demon hasn't come yet. Maybe we can do something to help ground you so you can move forward and not lose yourself in the demon blood. John can't lose you too, Sam. Just don't lock us out of this, okay?"

Sam nodded and sighed with relief. It went better than he feared. He supposed if he didn't have a bunch of demons definitely coming after him, and his powers weren't so obviously out of control, he would agree with the elder hunters. This wouldn't be something to mess with. But he was effectively backed into a corner and they all knew it. He had to learn how to use his teeth.

"I'm going to go see Dean for a little bit, kinda fill him in. I'll be back up in a half hour or so to help get all this stuff," he waved his hand at the piles of supplies, "sorted out. I'm going to shut the door to the basement. I want to talk with him in private. Okay?"

Glancing at one another, Bobby and Jim reluctantly agreed.

With a thankful smile to them, Sam strode quickly to the basement and pulled the door closed behind him. He wanted to catch Dean up on everything, give him the plans and strategies he and his father had worked out, and see if Dean could punch any holes in them or make any recommendations of further fortifications. He didn't figure Dean would be ready to open up about such things in front of either Bobby or Jim yet.

He hurried down the stairs and the look on Dean's face warmed his heart. Before he knew what he was doing he had Dean up against the wall, pressing as much of his body as he could against Dean, kissing him deeply as he could.

It was all going to be all right. If the Winchesters couldn't beat it, then nothing could. 

* * *

Dean finished his meal alone, much to his relief. Wadding up his trash when he was finished and tossing it across the room into the waste basket, smirking slightly when landed inside perfectly without even touching the sides. Then it was back to waiting.

The minutes seeming to stretch even longer since the hunter had told him that Sam would be here “soon”. What exactly was soon? Not soon enough for him. He’d never liked waiting. He wasn’t the sit around and do nothing kind of guy. Sitting around all day with nothing to occupy him but his own thoughts was almost a torture in of itself.

When he thought he heard the sound of a familiar car engine pull up just outside the church Dean sat up a little straighter. Listening intently.

He was sure he heard three distinct sounds of footsteps from the floor above, the two other hunters and Sam? Yes, he was quite sure he heard Sam’s voice, along with the voices of the other two men, and that restless energy that had been humming underneath his skin all day long only seemed to grow worse.

There was a lot of movement. Things being moved around, Dean tensed a little when he heard a loud crash. What the hell were they doing up there anyway? What was taking so long? When he finally heard the sound of footsteps approaching the stairs to the basement, Dean had to restrain himself from jumping up like some kind of excited kid, though he couldn’t stop himself from smiling like some kind of love struck fool when he finally saw Sam walking down the stairs towards him.

All that waiting, and finally between one breath and the next, Sam was in his arms.

Dean clutched at the younger man, framing Sam’s face between his hands as he returned the desperate kiss Sam gave him with just as much enthusiasm. Pouring all of that energy, desire, longing, he’d felt all day into every touch, ever flick of his tongue, every caress of their lips. His hands sliding down Sam’s body and up under his shirts to caress soft skin greedily, clutching him even closer. Every pleasured moan ripped from his throat telling without words just how much he’d missed Sam. 

* * *

Sam knew they only had a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes at best and he really did need to fill Dean in on a whole lot but at the moment all he cared about was the sounds coming from Dean and how it made him feel. He stripped off his flannel and they barely broke their kiss long enough for Sam to get his thermal shirt and t-shirt off. The next thing he knew he was down on the mattress, Dean on top of him, Dean's roaming hands like fire on his skin, running his hands over Sam's back, pinching then rubbing Sam's nipples, sliding his hand underneath his jeans and shorts squeezing his ass.

Sam was groaning and gasping into Dean's mouth, sucking on Dean's tongue, scraping his nails along Dean's back, squeezing Dean's ass, and getting so hard so fast he thought he was going to end up light-headed from the sudden diversion of blood. He rubbed against Dean, groaning. Dean smile was practically evil as he broke their kiss then planted that hot mouth of his on Sam's left nipple. Sam had to swallow his groan as he arched into that experienced mouth. Dean's hand came out from beneath the cloth of Sam's jeans and Dean cupped and groped Sam's already hard member through the front of the pants.

"Oh, God, Dean," Sam whispered, practically bucking under him. His touch was electrifying, and his mouth was a titillating machine working Sam's nipple hard enough Sam thought he was trying to suck milk out of it.

He hardly noticed his jeans come undone until his cock was out and tenting his under shorts and Dean's hand slipped underneath to wrap around it.

Less than two or three minutes ago wasn't he at the top of the stairs? How the hell was he already on the mattress, hard as a rock, already beginning to sweat? He wanted to be driving Dean as crazy and started to push himself up and over, intent of getting Dean under him so he could rub his cock against Dean, so he could be sucking on Dean's nipple and digging his fingernails into Dean's back. He'd barely started the move when Dean tightened his hold on Sam's dick almost painfully and switched over to Sam's other nipple, his free hand drifting up to the still firmly erect left nipple his mouth had just abandoned. Dean pressed his weight down on Sam and as soon as Dean began stroking his hard shaft again, any thought of moving flitted out of Sam's mind like a leaf on a breeze. A hurricane level breeze.

"Suck me off Dean," Sam begged. "Please," he keened, already bucking up against the man. "I need your mouth on me. Oh fuck," Sam gasped as Dean sucked hard on Sam's nipple and pinched the other one almost painfully.

"I'm yours…" Sam breathed. "Anything…Do me any way you want. Just fucking do me…"

* * *

It was like he couldn’t get close enough. Couldn’t touch, couldn’t taste, enough of Sam’s flesh to satisfy him. It was like he’d been starving for days and Sam was suddenly a buffet laid out in front of him for him to devour at will. But he’d never hungered quite so much for anything as simple as food or water like he hungered for Sam now.

Dean caught Sam’s hard erect nipple between his teeth. Tugging on the firm nub gently and flicking it with his tongue before he finally released the tortured slightly swollen flesh and looked up at Sam again. Giving the younger man’s hard weeping flesh one final firm stroke before slipping his hand out of Sam’s underwear, and releasing his other nipple, sliding both of his hands possessively up and down the length of the other man’s body before settling on his hips.

“Anything.” Dean echoed, his fingers hooking in the waistband of both Sam’s jeans and shorts, tugging both down the younger man’s hips as he kissed and licked his way lower. His tongue mapping out every scar and curve of muscle down Sam’s chest and abdomen, darting briefly in his bellybutton, before continuing down to the younger man’s crotch.

Bypassing Sam’s thick firm arousal pointing up towards his belly for the moment to nuzzle the soft heavy sacks beneath it, sucking one ball into his mouth and then the other, teasing. Glancing up at the younger man with a small smile before finally dragging his tongue slowly up the length of Sam’s hot shaft from base to tip. Closing his lips greedily around the head, sucking and moaning at the taste of the younger man’s dripping precome as his tongue flicked over the slit, swirling around the crown, and rubbing against the sensitive spot just underneath the head.

Finally giving in to the younger man’s pleas, Dean took Sam’s cock deeper, letting it fill his mouth, his throat, swallowing him down all the way despite Sam’s size easily. Moaning around the thick hard shaft as he buried his nose in the soft curls at the base of the younger man’s cock. His only desire to give Sam all the pleasure he could as his hand’s settled on the younger man’s hips and urged him to fuck up into his mouth. 

* * *

Sam just wanted his touch. He wanted Dean's very essence draped over him and wrapped around him, keeping him safe from whatever might be out there. He wanted Dean's tongue in his mouth, or working his nipples, or licking and kissing and sucking on him where ever the hell Dean damn well pleased. If Dean wanted his cock buried deeply in Sam's ass, Sam wanted it too. He couldn't explain his hunger for Dean's touch and he didn't try. He simply wanted Dean. Everything that was Dean. And he wanted Dean to give himself over as readily as he wanted to give himself over to Dean.

The end to the torturous pleasure of Dean attacking his nipples, of Dean's grip on his member made him whine with discontent, then Dean's hands ran over him and Sam's skin positively thrummed under Dean's hands. When Dean repeated Sam's words back to him, he shivered. God, yes, anything. Anything, so long as Dean stayed with him. He heard the possessiveness in Dean's voice, the confirmation that Sam was his and his alone.

"Yours. Only yours," Sam whispered and knew it was true. He couldn't imagine ever wanting another one's touch on him again. Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair.

When Dean exposed him to the cool air, his skin prickled and he held his breath, waiting to see what Dean wanted, ready to spread his legs, ready to give Dean whatever he desired. Dean's hot breath and wet tongue caressed and marked his body in a way no one could see but Sam could feel. There were no runes, no magical means, nothing but the hunger they felt for one another.

Sam thought he was going to lose it when Dean didn't touch his so hard and ready cock. Sam gasped when Dean sucked his balls into his mouth. He thought his eyes were going to roll back into his head.

"Dean, oh, fuck Dean….please, touch me…" Sam begged.

Dean's tongue finally, slowly slid up his cock and then his mouth took in the tip but only the tip of his needy flesh. Sam moaned trying to press into Dean's mouth but Dean would have none of it, licking him, sucking him, but leaving the shaft untouched.

"Please Dean," Sam gasped, his pleasure reaching his pain threshold as Dean continued to tease him.

Suddenly his whole cock was in Dean's hot silken mouth. Not just part way but fully. Not even Jessica had been able to take him in that far. No one ever had. Dean's moans vibrated along the length of Sam's member and with the small urging from Dean he couldn't have stopped it if he wanted to. He pulled out a little then pushed back in, feeling Dean's throat adjust with each thrust, feeling Dean's tongue run along underside his cock, feeling Dean's lips pull and suck at him. He wrapped his fingers in Dean's short hair and pumped harder, trying to keep his groans and grunts soft enough not to draw the attention of the hunters upstairs.

Dean could have had anything from Sam and instead, he gave Sam what Sam had asked for. That made Sam even hotter, knowing that this was what Dean wanted most. To give Sam what he wanted.

"Mine…" Sam groaned as he thrust harder wrapping his fingers tighter in Dean's hair. "You're mine…" Sam said possessively. Just let anyone try to take his brother, his lover, from him.

* * *

Dean groaned an obscene needy sound when Sam started to thrust between his lips. He relaxed his throat to take his brother fully into his mouth with every single deep thrust, keeping his lips tight around the thick full shaft as he sucked, his tongue caressing every inch of the beautiful hot flesh. He worked the younger man using every skill he’d ever learned in order to please him. Ignoring his own arousal, his cock heavy, leaking inside his jeans, and almost painful trapped within the tight denim. His only desire was to please Sam. To give his brother all the pleasure he could, and more.

He caressed Sam’s thighs, his stomach, his ass, everywhere he could reach. Squeezing the firm round cheeks, occasionally letting his fingers drift between them. Teasing over the younger man’s hot sensitive hole, remembering exactly how good Sam had felt wrapped around him, so tight, so hot.

Dean looked up, watching Sam’s beautiful face etched in ecstasy through heavy lidded eyes. Feeling almost drunk on his own pleasure he received doing this for Sam, even though his cock was never touched. He could come just from sucking his brother off. Feeling the hot splash of the younger man’s seed against the back of his throat, the taste of him filling his mouth… Dean groaned as he worked him harder, trying to bring them both to that point.

_Mine…_

Sam’s words, the way the younger man clutched at him so possessively, he wasn’t sure why it shocked him so much. Almost enough to make him stop what he was doing. Almost. He was trained too well for that however, and only worked Sam’s cock harder.

_Mine…_

Maybe it surprised him because it was similar to… his father. When Dean was in this position, giving him pleasure, his master, his father, touching him, owning him, giving pain, sometimes pleasure, taking whatever he wished even if Dean didn’t want to give it. But his wants, his desires, didn’t matter. He belonged to Azazel, body and soul. He was his…

_Mine…_

Sam said it like he really did belong to the younger man. No other. Like Sam believed it… and Dean was shocked how much he wanted to believe it too. How much he wished he were Sam’s. That Sam was his master, and not…

For now, like this, he was Sam’s. As long as he wore these chains he belonged to Sam. As long as they were like this, Dean didn’t care whether he was a prisoner or a slave. As long as he was Sam’s…

* * *

The way Dean took him in so deep, the way Dean's tongue seemed to be exactly where it needed to be at exactly the right moment had Sam in the throes of pure ecstasy. Dean's hot wet lips tightening, releasing, caressing his cock. He had had blow jobs. For his nineteenth birthday his buddies had paid no small sum for a high end hooker to supposedly give him the blow job from hell. She was an amateur.

No matter his pace Dean seemed to match it, and yet seemed to be able to control his pace. Dean would suck and his cheeks would surround Sam's shaft as Dean's tongue played along Sam's well leaking slit. That tongue would dive into the slit, flatten along the head, wrap around the crown and tighten and pull and rub the sensitive spot. Sam's head lolled back. Nothing, not ever, came close to how perfect this blow job was. The only time he had ever had anything better was when Dean was fucking him--was it only yesterday?  
  
Dean's hands ravaged Sam, sliding over his body, slight squeezes here and there as if marking discreet parts of him with his mere touch, every touch bringing with it the essence of desired possession. Dean's pure pleasure-filled groans sent tingles through Sam.

He didn't think it was possible but Dean worked him harder still when Sam declared Dean as his own. Sam had no idea how he hadn't come yet, how Dean was keeping him on that knife edge but he was.

"Oh fuck Dean," Sam panted pumping harder still.

Sam moaned loudly, too loudly he feared and desperately grabbed for the nearest thing within reach. He grabbed hold of one of his discarded shirts and stuffed part of it in his mouth, allowing him to make the sounds he wanted, he needed, to, and still not be heard by those upstairs.

When Dean's fingers again brushed over Sam's still tender hole, Sam suddenly wished Dean would be inside him, filling him, but he didn't want that beautiful unbelievable mouth to leave his cock. If Dean's own cock couldn't be inside him, Dean's fingers could be. Sam loosed his hold of Dean's hair and reached blindly for Dean's hand, encouraging Dean to go where he obviously wanted to. He knew he was so near coming... if Dean would only let him.

* * *

When Sam reached down to grasp his hand, guiding his fingers to where the younger man wanted him to be, Dean understood immediately. Groaning obscenely around his brother’s cock, Dean didn’t hesitate giving Sam what he wanted. Letting two of his fingers, already slick with the younger man’s own come, carefully push past the tight ring of muscle guarding Sam’s entrance into his body. The tight velvet heat surrounding his fingers immediately making his own cock throb agonizingly harder just imagining that tight velvet heat wrapped around his aching member.

As he sucked his brother’s cock deep into his throat, Dean pushed his fingers deep, curling them and rubbing that all too sensitive place hidden within. He slid his fingers in and out of the younger man slowly at first. Letting Sam once more get used to the sensation of having him inside his body before he picked up the pace. Circling and scissoring his fingers, always making sure to pay special attention to that tight bundle of nerves, before sliding a third finger in alongside the others.

Dean’s moans of pleasure vibrated around Sam’s cock as he fucked Sam with his fingers, letting Sam fuck his mouth at the same time. Concentrating only on giving the other man all the pleasure he could, completely ignoring his own, but at the same time gaining more pleasure than he could ever believe without a single touch to his cock. Single mindedly concentrating on bringing Sam over the edge, his only real regret not being able to hear the younger man scream his name in passion while Dean swallowed his brother’s come. 

* * *

Sam would have winced at the burn as Dean's finger's slid in to his tender hole but Dean seemed to focus a little harder, if that were even possible, on Sam's cock and any sound of complaint was buried in his groans. When Dean hit his prostate with his fingers Sam arched and whimpered and practically screamed into the shirt stuffed into his mouth.

That damned slow pace of Dean's. His fingers working him slowly, touching him inside where he never thought he would ever want to be touched. But he did. Each time Dean touched that sweet spot Sam arched burying his dick as deeply as possible in his brother's hot mouth, a mouth that was giving him unbelievable head. When the third finger came inside him it didn't hurt like it had before, it felt more natural, if it was natural to have your brother's fingers up your ass. Dean stretched his tight circle of muscle and somehow Sam managed to relax that muscle, tightening every time he thrust into his brother's mouth, then releasing as he pulled out.

Dean increased the pace just a fraction more. Let him come, for Chrissakes Sam begged in his mind and he pumped harder and harder as Dean licked and sucked. He felt Dean's fingers press hard and sudden on his prostate and stay there, giving little pushes into the nerves and Sam was in so much pleasure it hurt. He screamed Dean's name and whimpered at the waves of fire going through him and Dean might as well have been clamping his hand around the base of Sam's dick. He couldn't come. The waves passing through him seemed to lock him up in a writhing mass of agonizing pleasure and he just couldn't come.

He was ready to cry, to beg when Dean eased the pressure just a little and Sam was able to give another hard deep thrust, feeling everything inside him tighten into a ball. With a slight increase of pressure on his prostate again, Sam screamed his brother's name into the shirt, still arching and tight but finally everything bound inside him released. He came so hard he thought his brain might be being ejected along with his spunk. Dean kept up the pulsing pressure inside him and Sam couldn't do anything but thrust again and spew more into Dean's throat, again and again and again as he moaned Dean's name over and over. The sweat poured off of Sam as the pulses rippled through him. When Dean's fingers finally released the pressure on his prostate, Sam lay gasping, still seeing sparkles in front of his eyes. Dean's little push back into his prostate made Sam whimper and his cock jerked in Dean's mouth. There was nothing left in him but Dean tried to suck every last little tiny thing out anyhow. His rapidly softening cock made him tug on Dean's hair as he struggled to lift his head to look at his brother. He wanted that mouth on his and he pulled gently, hoping Dean understood because he wasn't sure he had the breath for words. He found he was wrong as he panted out, "You..if you…haven't…come…stretched…can take you in me."

He really wasn't sure he could handle anymore stimuli, and he really did need to do something important with Dean, tell him something, but the blood hadn't really returned to his brain yet. He couldn't for the life of him remember what he needed to do other than offer to Dean the chance to fuck him if Dean wanted to.

* * *

When Sam came, so hard it almost choked him, and screaming into the shirt that the younger man had stuffed into his mouth, that was all it took to push Dean over the edge at the same time. His throat aching as he swallowed every thick burst hot come that his brother shot down his throat eagerly. His own dick pulsing over and over, almost at the same time as his brother’s, and making a hot sticky mess in his jeans that he knew would feel damn uncomfortable really soon, but Dean hardly gave a flying fuck at the moment.

All he cared around was how Sam’s body shook and writhed beneath him with ecstasy, his tight hole fluttering around his fingers, as he continued to ease them in and out of the tight clenching muscle. How his cock continued to twitch and throb in his mouth and he swallowed and licked every last delicious drop of thick spunk that leaked from it like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted in his life.

With Sam’s increasingly insistent tugging on his hair, Dean finally released his brother’s softening cock with an almost regretful sigh. Letting his tongue play lovingly over the sensitive head another moment before he let Sam drag him up. Laying his body heavily over the younger man’s as he pressed his lips to Sam, teasing his lips open with his tongue and sharing Sam’s taste with him with a low moan. His fingers continuing to play gently within the younger man’s body, even knowing how sensitive and sore Sam must feel right now, unwilling to break that final contact. He simply loved being able to touch Sam so intimately. In a way no one else ever had.

Pulling back from the kiss with a sigh, Dean propped himself up on one elbow to look down at the beautiful flushed young man between them with a tender smile. Shaking his head a little at Sam’s offer to let him fuck him.

“I’m fine. I’ll take a rain check though.” Dean’s grin widened, “and you owe me a new pair of underwear.”

* * *

Sam groaned softly as Dean finally let his cock slip from his mouth, but not before Dean gave him a last tease around his crown. Dean's fingers still toyed inside of him, sending shudders through him with every brush across the nerve bundle, causing small jerks and thrusts and pushes against Dean's fingers. He liked to think he was in shape but he knew he was going to ache like he had spent an entire day in the gym. His muscles felt like jelly. When Dean crawled up his body letting his weight press Sam into the mattress and yet still his fingers slowly pumped inside of him Sam couldn't help the small arching and upward pressing against his brother. Dean lips touched his but Sam was still so caught up in the continuing aftershocks, Dean had to lick his way into Sam's mouth. Sam briefly wondered when the hell he had pulled his shirt free of his mouth but that thought was lost when Dean's tongue entered his mouth at the same time as Dean gave a small push inside Sam. Sam jerked up against his brother and he could feel his brother's smile as he whimpered into Dean's mouth. Sam wrapped his arms so tightly around Dean his brother probably couldn't breath. He tasted himself on Dean's tongue, tasted Dean's own flavor as well, and still shuddered and arched under his brother's skillful hands.

Sam's kiss was almost desperate, sucking on Dean's tongue as he tried to rub against Dean. He whimpered again when Dean finally broke the kiss but Dean's fingers still slid in and out of him. Reluctantly he let his brother go. He still panted, his head lolling as Dean's fingers teased him.

"Oh, Jesus Dean, either fuck me or stop," Sam begged, pressing against Dean's hand and clenching around Dean's fingers.

Sam ignored Dean's words and pulled Dean's grinning mouth back down on his own, moaning as he slipped his hand inside Dean's pants and felt the cooling come. He ran his fingers along Dean's cock returning the tease as he began pumping Dean, leaving Dean bound in his jeans. Two could damned well play the game he thought as he thumbed Dean's slit. The come slicked his hand and he couldn't resist pulling his hand out, licking his fingers with an obscene groan and then plastering his mouth back on Dean's before putting his hand back down Dean's pants.

* * *

Dean couldn’t help but laugh softly at Sam’s demand before the younger man pulled him back down into a deep kiss. His amusement abruptly silenced in a deep moan that escaped into his brother’s mouth as Sam’s hand slid down the front of his pants, taking his soft, yet overly sensitive, cock and stroking him purposefully.

The elder man couldn’t help but groan, his hips jerking forward into Sam’s fist, as the younger man played with him. Teasing his slit and smearing the sticky mess in his pants all over his cock and Sam’s fingers. It was so damned dirty and hot he felt his dick twitch in the younger man’s hand even though Dean wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get it up again so soon.

Dean was panting heavily, staring down at the younger man in near awe when Sam finally released his lips and pulled his hand out of his jeans. Only to groan again as he watched the younger man clean his fingers free of his come, watching Sam licking away the traces of his spilled seed, that perfect mouth curling around his fingers and sucking greedily, probably one of the hottest things he’d ever seen in his life.

He all but swooned when the younger man pulled him back down into a kiss, sharing the taste of himself while the younger man licked the remaining flavor of his own release from his mouth. His cock already half hard again by the time Sam stuck his hand back down his pants. Oh yes, he was definitely going to be taking Sam up on his offer now.

Dean removed his fingers from the younger man’s tight hole and pushed himself up onto his knees with a grunt that was half complaint and half desperation. Wasting no more time, he popped open the button of his jeans and shoved them down to the middle of his thighs. He took his cock in hand and stroked himself in an almost punishing rhythm. Despite his initial doubts he was hard again in seconds, smearing his come liberally over his entire length, and he released his almost painfully sensitive flesh with a moan.

“Turn over.” He ordered, barely giving Sam the chance to obey, as he grasped the younger man’s hips and rolled the other man over onto his front. Pulling him up so that Sam was on his knees, he lined up with the younger man’s hole and began to push his cock inside.

* * *

He really had just wanted to return the favor of torturing Dean the way Dean continued to torture him with his fingers inside him, but he felt Dean growing harder in his hand. Dean's little thrusts told him he was succeeding and made him grin, especially when he swallowed Dean's deep groan. Dean had to be as sensitized as he was, and knowing Dean was still bound up in those teasingly tight pants made him so hot. When the hell had he found bondage of any kind so damned exciting? And fuck, how the hell was he getting hard again? He had just had the mother of all releases, the blow job from hell, and yet his cock was getting hard? This was just so fucked up, so excitingly, exquisitely fucked up beyond belief. And he was getting it on with his older brother who was in chains, who was thrusting into his come-slicked hand, and it was so very very wrong. And Bobby and Pastor Jim were probably quietly talking upstairs, having no clue John Winchester's sons had it so bad for each other they were doing it hard and heavy right below them. …And that made Sam even hotter. When the hell had he become such a pervert, too?

Dean finally removed his fingers from inside Sam and Sam wasn't certain if he was relieved or upset. He felt …empty. He was sore. He was damned sore, but he couldn't stop his whine even though he had asked Dean to stop. He didn't want Dean to stop kissing him though dammit. Okay, so they needed to talk. They would, but when Dean pushed himself away from Sam, Sam almost panicked. No, no, no! His hand slipped from Dean's pants with protest. He wanted Dean back on top of him, holding him down on the mattress, finger-fucking him, rubbing against him, kissing him, and he wanted Dean fucking into his hand. He wasn't ready to stop yet!

He watched as Dean popped his jeans open and pushed his come soaked pants down to his knees. Watched as Dean jacked himself hard so fast it had to hurt, and if the look on Dean's face was any indication, it did. He couldn't do anything but watch in fascination as Dean's cock hardened and swelled and Sam felt his own respond. Dean's order only began to register and he started to move when his brother all but flipped him over himself. He pulled Sam's hips up and to him and Sam felt the tip of Dean's cock begin to press into him.

None of this slow bullshit. Not this time. Yeah, it was probably going to hurt like a bitch at first, burn like hell, but Dean had had Sam in throes of pleasure and unable to do anything but writhe and whimper like a girl. Sam knew he was pretty well stretched out and he just hoped he was stretched out enough. He was going to have a little control this time, dammit.

He pressed back sharply on Dean's firm cock, biting back his cry as he felt Dean suddenly fill him, felt Dean's sac pressed against his ass. Dean's own startled cry made Sam wince and he grabbed his discarded thermal shirt and tossed it over his shoulder at his brother wordlessly. He took up his own flannel shirt again and used it to quiet what he knew was going to be loud cries otherwise. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt like a mother-fucker and he really hoped he hadn't torn anything, mostly because that meant they wouldn't be able to do this again at the next opportunity. Of course, he was going to be so sore after this, he wasn't sure when he would be able to do it again. Hell, he just hoped he could get up the stairs after this, but he didn't care.

He clenched down on Dean's member, letting himself get adjusted, letting the pain and burn subside. Dean wasn't going anywhere. Not in, not out, not until Sam was ready.

* * *

Dean was in no way prepared for Sam’s sudden movement, shoving his hips back and impaling himself on his cock in one swift motion. The elder man couldn’t have contained the sound of surprise and pleasure that was ripped from his throat if he’d tried. The pleasure was so intense it was painful, and left him feeling dizzy and shaken to the core. He could barely think. Nothing had ever felt like this, and Dean knew he’d take any amount of pain if only to remain like this with Sam always…

His brother’s shirt smacking him upside the head barely a second later made Dean laugh in spite of himself and he draped himself over the younger man’s back with a low moan. He panted heavily against the other man’s sweat damp skin, raining soft kisses down the back of Sam’s neck, as he tried to regain some sense of control over his body.

Though it wasn’t easy the way Sam shuddered and clenched around his cock. So fucking tight, Dean couldn’t help but moan, sinking his teeth into the muscle of the younger man’s shoulder. Wrapping his arms tightly around the other man’s waist, letting his hands roam freely over the sweat slicked abs and chest, as he remained perfectly still inside the younger man. Allowing them both to adjust. Letting Sam tell him when he was ready.

* * *

The weight of Dean draped across him sent a shudder through Sam. It felt so very good to have him there, it felt so very good to have Dean inside of him. He wished the moment could last, and he was tempted to hold Dean there for as long as he could. He felt Dean's chest heave as he blew warm breath across Sam's sweat-soaked skin.

Sam wasn't prepared for for the soft kisses along his neck and when Dean bit hard into his shoulder, he echoed Dean's groan and threw his head back, feeling his cock jump and somehow, he was already beginning to leak come again. Dean's arms wrapped around him, his hands wandering all over him left trails of fire over his skin. As always, it seemed, Dean did just what Sam wanted, just what Sam needed. He stayed pushed up inside him, staying still, not trying to force Sam to his will.

Sam sighed in contentment. Dean was and always would be his. Maybe always had been. Maybe had always been the one thing missing from his life that could make him complete. At this instant in time he felt complete, he felt joined with Dean. He felt the flow of power bubble inside of him, but this time it wasn't a flare of anger or fear. This time is was a warmth that engulfed him and stretched out to swallow his brother. Pure love, pure happiness, pure contentment. As insane as it seemed, he couldn't remember feeling quite this way ever before.

Sam savored it all. He felt his insides relax around Dean, felt as if Dean was meant to be there and Sam was meant to sheath him. It no longer hurt like it had and he slowly tightened his muscles inside him, rolling the tightening wave along Dean's hard shaft. He was ready. He was definitely ready and as perfect as the last time had been, as slow and careful as Dean had been to make it perfect, that wasn't really what Sam wanted this time. This time he wanted it dirty.

He relaxed that ring of muscle clenching Dean and twisted his head, spitting his shirt out for the moment. He grinned at his brother, nothing but pure lust in his eyes.

"Fuck me hard Dean," he whispered. "I want to feel you for days. Fuck me harder than you've ever fucked anyone." His voice roughened and it grew throaty and husky, "Make me yours."

* * *

Dean loved the sounds of pleasure Sam made and the way the younger man arched against him. His tongue laved at the little indentations his teeth had left on the younger man’s shoulder. He sucked on the fragile skin, nibbling, sucking again. His efforts leaving an increasingly reddening mark of passion on Sam’s flesh he knew the other man would carry for days, and that knowledge only made him hotter if that were possible.

Still he didn’t move, his hips remained still, their bodies flushed together, his cock buried to the hilt in that exquisite tight ass as he waited for Sam to relax. Waited for the younger man to tell him he was ready for more. It didn’t matter how long it took, didn’t matter how much he ached, and throbbed deep inside of Sam, He would have stayed like this forever if Sam asked him to.

The ripple of power Dean felt inside Sam, flowing out from the younger man, surrounding them both shocked him and he couldn’t contain his soft startled gasp against Sam’s neck. A part of him was worried. He wanted to warn Sam, because this power was not to be taken lightly. It was something that the other man needed to learn to control, not the other way around, it was dangerous for Sam to be letting it loose randomly right now. But at the same time he was in awe because he’d never felt anything like this before.

It was warm, soft, like the gentlest rays of sunlight caressing his skin. Winding around them, flowing through him, like it was searching for something and yet it wasn’t invasive. In fact, nothing had ever felt more right in his life and Dean couldn’t help the sigh of pleasure and contentment that escaped his lips, pressing more soft kisses to any inch of Sam’s flesh he could reach. Letting his fingers map out every line and curve of muscle on the younger man’s chest, stomach, and thighs.

As good as it felt, it also seemed almost a poor substitute. He wanted to reach out and touch Sam with more than just his hands. To answer that gentle searching warmth with his own, but he couldn’t. He was trapped and he ached deep inside in a way he couldn’t explain, missing that warmth like a piece of himself had been ripped away leaving an open bleeding wound.

Sam’s demand to fuck him as he felt the younger man’s body relax and push his hips back against him made Dean practically growl low in his throat. He grasped Sam’s hips hard, holding him steady, as he pulled his cock almost all the way out. Leaving only the head of his shaft buried inside the other man teasingly for a moment before he snapped his hips forward again hard, just like his brother asked. Quickly picking up a pace that was almost brutal, but it felt amazing. Pulling Sam back against him every time he thrust forward, angling his hips to make sure he hit that place inside his brother with every deep thrust. The pleasure that washed over him every time he thrust hard into the younger man’s body almost making up for that strange missing feeling inside of him. Being joined together with Sam physically, at least, though he wanted so much more.

“You feel so good, Sam… Sammy… so good…” He whispered, burying his face against the younger man’s neck to muffle his moans of pleasure. 

* * *

He felt the tension, the predator, return in his brother and it reached deep inside of Sam, touching a place buried in his soul. If it had been anyone other than his Dean, he would have been afraid. He heard the sound Dean made, like a guard dog finally let off its leash and Sam practically trembled in anticipation. He returned the shirt to his mouth because he had no doubt Dean was going to make him scream, to make him shout, to make him his, just as he asked.

His brother's fingers dug into his hips painfully, almost bruising them. Sam gasped as Dean pulled out, just the tip still inside Sam. Sam grunted and threw his head back as Dean buried himself deeply inside Sam again, hitting his prostate and sending a ripple through Sam. Then Dean began to fuck him, to truly deeply fuck him. Sam felt the bruises forming on his hips as Dean pulled Sam back against him with every hard thrust forward. It felt good, so very good. It was harsh, it echoed in him with the pain he felt inside over all the loss he had experienced in such a few short days. It ripped into that loss, making it bloody, digging into it as surely as the demon had dug into Dean's shoulder with the knife. The pleasure washed over top of that bloody aching wound and with each wave, Sam cried out louder, but his voice was lost in the cloth he had wadded into his mouth. The sharp hit on the nerve bundle, the feeling of Dean buried as deeply as physically possible, the hard yank on his hips, it was a kaleidoscope of emotions and feelings and Sam let them spin their way through him.

_He would never feel Jessica in his arms again._

He shuddered under Dean.

_He would never be inside her the way Dean was now inside him._

He groaned as the fresh spike of thrill rinsed over him.

_He had found his brother alive._

He moaned and arched against Dean.

_He had never told his father and left Dean to the demon bastard._

He felt the emptiness as Dean pulled out, then the full exquisite pleasure as Dean re-entered him.

_His brother almost killed their father._

He moaned as Dean whispered into his neck.

_Sam almost killed his father with the news._

He rolled he head toward those lips at his neck brushing his head against his brother's.

_He had demon blood in him, just like his brother._

He pushed himself harder against Dean, demanding more.

_He was a sick pervert who got hot over seeing his brother in chains, over wanting to suck him off, wanting his brother inside him, wanting to kiss and fuck and make love to his brother forever. Wanting no other lover ever again._

Dean's pace increased and Sam cried and moaned, winced and whimpered as Dean claimed every part of him. Dean's own sounds thrummed over his skin.

He knew Dean wouldn't understand his tears so he hid them from his brother. They had nothing and everything to do with Dean. He embraced each hard, punishing, pleasure-filled thrust and let that which was his brother fill the gaping emptiness within him.

* * *

It was the exact opposite of when they’d fucked the first time. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was hard, fast, and almost punishing. It was almost more painful than pleasurable as sensitive as they both were. Both of them pushed to the limits of their endurance. Both of them close to breaking….

And it was so damned perfect. Just as perfect as the first time. Maybe even more so. Because this was the way Sam wanted it. Because it was what they both needed, marking each other, owning each other, for this moment in time belonging to each other, and no one else.

With his every deep thrust, he knew Sam would feel him for days. His mouth and hands left bruises of passion on Sam’s flesh like brands. He fucked Sam hard. Harder than he’d ever fucked anyone. Savoring every shudder that rippled through the younger man’s body, every groan, every muffled cry of pleasure… Knowing he was giving Sam that pleasure was all that mattered to him. He wanted to give Sam more. He wanted to give him everything.

He thrust deep into the younger man and stayed there, groaning at the exquisite painful pleasure he felt being buried so fully in his brother. He pulled Sam back against him, sitting up and pulling the younger man up with him so that Sam was sitting in his lap, impaled upon his cock. He tugged the shirt Sam had been gagging himself with out of the younger man’s mouth, urging Sam to twist around just enough so that he could kiss his brother hard.

Holding Sam tightly to his chest he thrust a few more times up into the younger man’s exquisitely tight body while he swallowed Sam’s moans greedily. Only breaking their kiss when the need for air forced them apart, panting against the younger man’s lips. “Ride me, baby. Ride my cock.”

Then he covered Sam’s mouth with his hand to silence the younger man as he started to fuck Sam again. Reaching around the other man to grasp Sam’s leaking cock, stroking him hard. Forcing himself to hold back even though it felt like his orgasm was approaching with the speed and force of a freight train. Waiting for Sam to find his pleasure first. 

* * *

When Dean made that final deep thrust into him, he expected Dean to come. He didn't want that yet, but he expected it. Instead Dean pulled him suddenly upright and Sam's breath caught at the shift and change of pressure points of Dean's member inside him and just how the hell could Dean have gotten deeper inside? Sam was certain Dean had and he moaned his agony, his pleasure, unsure which was the stronger.

His shirt was ripped from his mouth and he inhaled sharply. He would never be able to stay quiet! Dammit why had Dean done that? Because he could make Sam squirm and watch as Sam tried to keep his moans silent? If so, his brother was a bastard because all Sam wanted to do was to keep shifting his weight and enjoy all the new feelings, moaning and groaning with the throes of pleasure/pain he was in. There was no doubt in his mind he was going to feel Dean for days, just as he asked. But now the shirt that was his gag was out of reach and he froze. If he moved he wasn't sure he could stop the sounds coming from him. He was going to have to, but he was worried he couldn't.

His brother holding him tightly against his chest was heaven and he wanted to stay there sitting on Dean's cock and held in his arms. He bit hard on his lip to keep his moan silent as Dean shifted in him again, his brother's lips sliding along his neck, his tongue flicking out along his jaw. He knew what Dean wanted and twisted enough to allow their lips to lock. He let his moan out into Dean, knowing it would be swallowed in that hot velvet mouth. His tongue shot inside his brother's and chased Dean's tongue, kissing back as fervently as Dean kissed him. It felt so good, so dirty, to be sitting like this on his brother. He was ready to squirm on Dean's cock, giving them both pleasure, when Sam's eyes widened as Dean thrust into him and he moaned loudly into Dean's mouth at the unbelievable feeling.

He didn't want to break their kiss and when he had, Sam felt suddenly lost at Dean's request, not really sure how to do what Dean asked at first. And then Dean's hand was across his mouth to silence his cries. It struck both a small cord of fear in him and thrilled him at the same time causing him to shudder. He played his tongue in the hollow of Dean's palm, flicking and tasting. He was completely at his brother's mercy in so many ways and he loved every last moment of it.

He practically screamed into his brother's hand when Dean began to stroke him, his whole body tensing and jerking as he arched and Dean's cock inside him pressed in new places. He would have been shouting Dean's name, begging him to stop, or not stop, he wasn't sure, if he could have made anything beyond unintelligible sound. He let his head fall back against his brother as all of the feelings overpowered him.

He felt Dean thrust a little, nudging him into motion. Dean wanted him to do this and he wanted to give his brother whatever he wanted. He began to to try, to pump, to ride and Dean stroked him and thrust into him and it was fucking unbelievable. He moaned into Dean's hand again and again, growing louder in his moans, his sounds of pleasure muffled by Dean's flesh. Each thrust seemed deeper and deeper inside him, each caress of Dean's hand on his member exquisite pain. Their rhythm increased and Sam wasn't sure his system could stand much more stimulation.

He screamed into Dean's palm as he felt everything inside him draw up and his aching, overworked balls readied themselves for release. He rode Dean desperately, harder and harder, until there was no holding back and he shouted as his come shot free in a white thick rope. He felt Dean tighten his hold on him as Dean pulsed inside him, Dean's own cry buried in his back as Dean bit into his shoulder. Sam felt Dean's come fill him and it made him moan again. Sam continued to ride Dean, as they shuddered and pulsed in unity with one another and his brother continued to stroke and work his cock. Sam wished he could shout and scream Dean's name with no one to hear him. He wanted his brother to know just how good it all fucking felt.  
  
He finally sagged against Dean and would have collapsed if not for his brother's strong arms around him, holding him up, just the way he knew it should be.

* * *

Dean groaned low in his throat at the feeling of the younger man’s tongue swiping over his palm, Sam’s hot panting breaths, his cries of pleasure, all muffled by his hand covering his brother’s mouth. He could do anything he wanted to Sam. Anything, and there was nothing the younger man could do. He couldn’t even call for help. That kind of power both thrilled him and almost frightened him, but Sam’s trust was absolute. Sam arched back into his chest, his head resting on his shoulder, lifting himself up and down on his cock while he thrust into the younger man. Whimpering and practically screaming while he stroked Sam’s cock. He gave himself over completely. Trusting Dean to hold him up, to keep him silent, to give him pleasure, everything.

“Sam… fuck, so good, Sam… Sam…” Dean whispered his brother’s name over and over into the back of the younger man’s neck as he fucked his brother faster, harder, if it was possible. Dean gave himself completely over to the younger man. He was as much a slave to the passion between them as he was controlling it. He felt the tension building in the younger man’s muscles. He felt his own cock, so impossibly hard, start to jerk inside his brother’s body, his balls drawing up tight. So close. So damn close.

He held onto Sam tighter. So tight he knew there would be a slight imprint of his hand over Sam’s mouth when he finally removed it. As he kept the younger man as silent as possible when Sam practically screamed behind it. He muffled his own loud moans of pleasure by biting into the meat of Sam’s shoulder, so hard it was a wonder he didn’t taste blood in his mouth. Barely letting himself breathe as he felt his brother’s cock pulse hard in his hand, Sam’s hot come drenching his fingers. His own cock releasing so hard inside the younger man, it left him feeling almost dizzy.

It seemed to never end, the pleasure, almost too intense to bear and yet he never wanted it to end. But it did, and he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or to mourn its loss as it began to fade. Groaning as he felt his own come dripping out of his brother around himself as he softened inside his brother, coating his balls and thighs.

They continued to move together. Riding out every wave, every shudder, every pulse, echoing every moan the other made. Always together. One. They came down from the high together. Sam resting heavily against his chest while he leaned his forehead against the younger man’s neck and shoulder. He released his brother’s spent cock to hold his brother steady around his waist instead. His heart still beating so fast he was sure Sam could feel it against his back, because he could feel Sam’s. Their breaths and moans mingling, almost simultaneously, so it was difficult to know which sound came from whom.

Dean finally released Sam’s mouth, his hand petting through his brother’s sweat drenched hair as he lifted his head to kiss the younger man’s jaw, his cheek, searching out his lips. 

* * *

Sam was utterly and completely spent. He thought he had ached before when Dean had played his body like a fine instrument, making Sam writhe in pleasure. This second round was almost, maybe better, than the blow job. No, it was better. Because Dean had been inside him with more than just his fingers. He didn't want to be empty, he didn't want them to be separated by anything. He felt like Dean was all he had to hold on to. He cared about the older hunters and his father, of course, but Dean was…Dean, the boy, the teenager, the young man, that had always been with him.

When Dean's hand slipped from it's firm grip over his mouth, Sam drew in a deep breath of air. "Dean," Sam moaned, "that was…you were…all perfect. Perfect."

Dean's hand running through his hair drew more soft moans and he pressed into that gentle touch. He reached over his shoulder and let his own fingers run through Dean's hair. He felt Dean's lips press kisses along his jaw and he twisted his head, capturing those lips. The kiss was soft and gentle and he was ready for soft and gentle. Their tongues stroked one another, investigated each other's mouths slowly, delicately, lovingly. Reluctantly Sam broke the kiss. It was time. He pulled himself off Dean's softened cock with a sharp hiss. He was so very sore but it was worth every moment of the ecstasy they had just experienced. If he walked funny for days, it was still worth it.

He saw the come drenching Dean's thighs and cock and eased himself down, slowly nuzzling and licking at the come. He did it carefully, wanting to make certain he didn't arouse his brother, knowing just how overly sensitized they both were. He just wanted to taste his brother and he moaned quietly as he licked at the still warm fluid. He finally ran his tongue up Dean's stomach, tasting the salty sweat mix with the flavors already on his tongue. He dragged his tongue higher, over Dean's chest until he found his brother's lips again. Wrapping his arms around his brother, he pulled Dean close, kissing him deeply. He tried to ignore the fact they were running out of time before Bobby and Jim might start to check on them. And he really did need to talk with Dean. But right now he just wanted to kiss him and be with him. For whatever moments longer he could steal, that was what he wanted.

* * *

Dean couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s soft words, the joy he felt at hearing them such so that even if he’d received no pleasure at all from what they’d shared he would have been completely satisfied. He sighed softly at the gentle fingers petting his hair, mimicking how he caressed the younger man, and Dean moaned softly again when his brother’s lips finally found his.

They kissed each other slowly, as though they had all the time in the world and no one else existed in it but them. Dean let his fingers continue to play along Sam’s body, lightly stroking his fingertips over the younger man’s chest as their tongues twined together so carefully one would think this was the first time they’d ever kissed. Taking the time to relearn every millimeter of each other’s mouths before they finally drew apart, much to the elder man’s regret.

“No, you’re perfect.” Dean whispered, a small groan escaping his lips when Sam finally eased himself up off his lap. A shudder rippling through his body as his over sensitive cock slipped free of the younger man’s body. He let his hands slide down Sam’s sides and hips warmly, prepared to pull the younger man back into his arms, but before he could, Sam bent over his lap.

Dean bit his lip to silence the loud groan that almost escaped as the younger man began licking him, combing his fingers through Sam’s hair and caressing his back. Loving the feeling of Sam’s tongue on him, the sight of him licking his seed from his skin, even though he was so sensitive that slight stimulation almost hurt more than anything.

He wrapped his arms tightly around Sam after the younger man licked a path up to his body, parting his lips once more eagerly for Sam’s kiss. One hand cupping the back of the younger man’s neck as they thoroughly explored each other’s lips again. Tasting himself now on Sam’s lips and tongue and moaning again into the younger man’s mouth.

His other hand coming to rest on Sam’s firm ass, pulling the other man even more tightly against him, not caring in the least what a fucking mess they both were. Unable to help himself, his fingers drifting down between the warm cheeks to lightly trace around the younger man’s wet hole with the barest touches. 

* * *

Dean pulled him closer and Sam winced a little. It was probably going to be a week before he was walking normal and healed up enough…and then he grinned to himself…to do it all over again. He nipped a little playfully at Dean's lips. Yes he was spent and he would not be able to tolerate any level of arousal at this point without it being more pain that pleasure, but he knew Dean was right there with him. He felt Dean's fingers sneak their way down his ass and lightly touch and run around his very sore hole. This time a slight hiss escaped him. He felt Dean tense.

"Do that again and I'll do more than lick your balls, I'll give you a blow job here and now, Jerk." He put his lips back on Dean's and let Dean feel his smile, but he also slid his hand down Dean's side and shifted it to caress Dean's stomach, threatening to drop lower. Honestly, he really did hope Dean didn't do that again. He really truly ached. Next time, maybe going back to the slow method Dean took would be a good option.

He wanted to sit there with Dean and kiss him and playfully torture him as he was threatening to torture Sam, but they were going to have to tend to reality, at least for a little while. If he got those things handled, maybe he could sneak back down here and curl up with Dean for a little while and they could…cuddle. He chuckled at that thought. Big tough Dean cuddling with him.

He gave Dean a final long deep kiss then broke it with a sigh. "I know you don't want to hear it. I don't want to either, but we do have to do a few things other than fuck each other into perfect exhaustion." He ran his hand through Dean's hair, staring into his beautiful green eyes. "We have to get cleaned up. We are both a sticky mess. Then, if you can without risking trouble, help me see if I've missed covering any of our bases. We're going to stay here, hole up, and fortify this place. You can teach me how to use these abilities of mine and hopefully either I'll get good enough before the demons come down on us with a major attack, or Dad's well enough to move, and we can reconsider our options then. We've got a hot water heater to install, I got us air mattress," he paused and grinned at Dean, "so next time we're going at it, it's going to be even better. And I got you some clean clothes and other things, like a toothbrush and stuff." He kissed Dean again. "And I even got you some fresh underwear. You did say I owed you a pair. And I'll do my best to ruin those soon, too."

* * *

Dean paused instantly what he was doing when he heard the soft hiss of pain escape the younger man. Giving Sam a slightly worried look before the younger man’s “threat” made him laugh softly against Sam’s lips. When Sam’s hand drifted low on his stomach, as though to make good on that threat, another small moan escaped his lips, his skin already tingling under the touch, but he moved his hand back to the “safer” area of the younger man’s lower back. Even without him feeling just as spent and sore as Sam must feel, though admittedly Sam probably felt worse, he would not have continued. The last thing he wanted to do was cause the younger man undue discomfort.

The elder man echoed Sam’s regretful sigh when their kiss ended and the younger man went on to explain what else they had to do, other than this. Sam talking about helping him come up with defenses for the church sobered him quite quickly. That was definitely on the list of things he probably _shouldn’t_ be doing, right up there with teaching Sam how to use his powers, and fucking him… but since the next demons that found them might be like Dumah. Coming to kill one or both of them, he had good reason to help Sam so he nodded slightly.

Though when Sam went on to describe all the other things that the younger man had brought for him, clothes, toothbrush, even an air mattress, he couldn’t help but stare at Sam in a bit of awe. None of that was anything he particularly _needed_ to survive. Though it would definitely make him more comfortable in the long run. That Sam was thinking of his comfort at all…

Dean ran his fingers gently through the younger man’s hair, brushing his thumb across his cheek at the same time.

“I look forward to it.” 

* * *

Sam furrowed his brow at the look that crossed Dean's face, as if he were shocked by the supplies Sam and Bobby had purchased. Then the way Dean had been reared, where he had been reared and who had reared him slammed into Sam. He turned his head into Dean's touch, laid his hand over Dean's, and twisted his head so he could kiss Dean's palm.

"You're not with them anymore, Dean," Sam said softly. "You're with me, with us. Dad was rough on me at times, making me train constantly, always moving us, keeping me in a life that I pretty much hated, but even so, he loved me. He always made sure I had clothes and food and a decent place to sleep. If I was hurt or sick, he took care of me. If you had been with us like you should have been, you would have had that, too.

"I'm not sure I really believed him that it was important I spend all my childhood training, but I guess he was right." He gave Dean a small smile. "These things I got for you, you deserve them all and more. You know I want you out of these chains, even if they do," and Sam blushed, "kinda turn me on. You would be out of them if you hadn't asked me to leave you in them. I understand they give you security, a reason to stay with me. That you feel you would have to follow your orders to do what ever it is you're supposed to do if you were free. I understand you don't feel enough allegiance to us to fight by our side yet." He ran his fingers over Dean's lips. "I know you would do almost anything for me, but I know you don't trust yourself enough to fight the orders they gave you. I know you can fight them. I know you can beat them and stay with me. I also know until you believe that, you can't be let out of these chains. You're willing to help us and that's a start. Even if you weren't, you're my brother. I'd do anything for you Dean. If you're cold or hungry or hurt or need something, you have to tell me. I don't want you to have to endure any of those things. Ever." He kissed Dean gently. "Now help me get up. I've got a feeling this is going to hurt."

Sam slowly climbed to his feet with Dean's aid, his breath hitching at the pain. At seeing Dean's concerned look he squeezed his shoulder. "Stop worrying. I'm sore as hell, but I expected that. I don't regret what we did. Of course come tomorrow, when I'll probably really be hurting, I might regret our enthusiasm a little. But I wouldn't change any of it."

He glanced over at his clothes scattered on the mattress. The thought of bending over at this particular moment in time to pick them up was unpleasant. He gave a wave to his clothes and a hopeful look to his brother. "Uhm, think you can help me get those?"

Thanking Dean once he held his clothes in his arms, he gingerly walked over to the bathroom. He cleaned himself up just as quickly as he could manage and worked his way into his clothes. As soon as he was dressed, he took a fresh bucket of water out to Dean so Dean could clean up. Between the pain and the exhaustion, both from the long tense day and from having Dean fuck his brains out, Sam was honestly ready to sleep for a week. That would have to wait though. Too much had to be done. If he got some aspirin and caffeine into him, he was certain he would feel much better.

As Dean took the equivalent of a sponge bath, Sam quickly ran through their plans for further fortification of the church and listened intently to the additional counter measures Dean offered.

* * *

Dean listened as Sam spoke though after only a few words he found he couldn’t meet the younger man’s eyes. He had no idea what to feel, much less say, to much of what Sam said. His life… he’d never imagined anything different for himself than the life he’d lived. Though he wasn’t foolish, he’d always known that Azazel had gotten him from somewhere, though his father had never said from where, he’d never thought of it as being taken away… being stolen… maybe from something _better_ than he’d known all his life.

In fact, despite all the pain and suffering he’d endured during his training, he’d always been grateful for being chosen by Azazel. His father had handpicked him after all from dozens of other potential children. Azazel had reared him himself, had trained him himself. His father had made him into something _more_ than a mere human. His father had saved him from being nothing more than mere cattle.

When his father’s years of planning finally bore fruit, while the rest of the human race was reduced to slavery or as hosts for other demons, he would be sitting at his father’s right hand, sharing in the glory…

At least, that would have been his fate if he’d succeeded in his mission. Now… he would probably suffer a fate worse than the other cattle. He would suffer the fate of those who failed, tortured to within an inch of his life over and over, and most likely killed horribly only after his father got bored. Then, in hell, his suffering would truly begin… Though there was still hope, if he completed his mission, bringing Sam to his father. He _may_ be allowed to live if Azazel was in a generous mood, though by the time the demon was done with him he might wish for death. Not only for his own fate, but for the fate that awaited Sam…

Even as Sam spoke of switching his allegiances, to fight on _their_ side, not the demons, not his father’s… such a concept was almost unfathomable to him. Every time he tried to wrap his mind around the idea, he felt physically ill with fear. Despite all the pain and suffering he’d endure now at his father’s hands for his failure, it was far preferable than to suffer the fate of a traitor…

Dean’s eyes flickered up to Sam’s at the light touch across his lips. To stay with Sam… that’s all he wanted. All he’d ever wanted. To never wake up from the dream. To always have the boy, the man, Sam, with him forever. But how? How…

The elder man managed a small smile when Sam kissed him softly, more for the younger man’s sake than his own, and helped the other man to rise when he asked. Unable to stop the flash of concern from crossing his face at the obvious discomfort that his brother was in. He could not help but worry, even as Sam asked him not to. Even though he knew Sam was not truly hurt, only sore as he said, he couldn’t stop feeling guilty for it either. Even as, like Sam, he didn’t think he could ever truly regret what they’d shared. He still regretted the pain the younger man was in because of it.

From now on, perhaps Sam should enter him when they had sex. Dean was used to the discomfort, he had been taken so many times, it would not affect him so much. He decided he would suggest that the next time they fucked, as he watched Sam carefully make his way into the bathroom to wash up. Dean sat back down on the mattress, waiting for Sam’s return.

When the younger man returned with the water for him to clean up, Dean did so quickly and efficiently. Doing his best not to “tease” this time, as he listened to Sam discuss the fortifications of the church. When Sam was done, Dean hesitated only a moment before offering his own insight. Well aware that every word out of his mouth would be considered practically blasphemous, and would surely mean a fate worse than death if it was learned what he was about to tell Sam.

“The word of God is a powerful weapon against the minions of Hell because most demons in hell are the twisted souls left of humans. Most of what God made them burned away in hellfire leaving only pain, rage, and evil. However the essence of their soul remains, though it’s blackened almost beyond recognition.” Dean practically whispered as he washed himself carefully, not meeting Sam’s eyes as he spoke, as though he could pretend he was speaking only to himself made it easier to utter them.

“Holy ground will keep away most lesser demons. The same with holy water, rosaries, and other relics of God. However the older demons, the original demons, were once fallen angels of God, cast out of heaven and the light completely, and those measures will have no effect at all upon them. The only law they obey is the law of their own God. The word of the Light Bringer. Lucifer…”

Dean paused, his eyes flickering up briefly to Sam’s before looking away again as he adjusted his clothes and pulled them back into place.

“My father has many enemies among the elder demons. The war for power in hell has raged constantly since… well, that’s more than you need to know. The point is while the laws of God are powerful and most demons must obey, the laws of hell are what _all_ demons must obey. My father taught some of it to me, the language of demons. Spells, devils’ traps, and other sigils are useless if they are destroyed somehow, broken, and that might be as simple as tearing up the foundation of the church or bringing the walls down on top of you. I can write down some spells and they must be copied in blood, any will do, on every wall in the building. It will stop demons from simply destroying the structure around you to get inside.”

* * *

Sam forced himself to listen to Dean rather than watch him as he bathed. Dean's soft words were hard to hear and Dean's refusal to meet Sam's eyes told him that Dean shouldn't be telling him this. That these things were things the demon master would know Dean had spoken. His brow lifted at learning demons were once human. Did anyone else know this? Did Bobby or Jim or his father? Why hadn't he ever heard of it? He knew Dean was telling the truth, but the thought that demons were not just supernatural evil, but human souls who had lost everything of themselves to Hell was terrible. Lost all their humanity to Hell. He wasn't sure he could understand what could do that to a person, but then recalled the things he had seen done to Dean, the things Dean had done to their father. After years of experiencing such horrors, yes, maybe he could understand.

Original demons were fallen angels. If demons were fallen angels…then angels were real. He had always believed in angels and if demons existed it surely suggested their counterparts did as well, but he had never really made the connection that fallen angels would be demons. It made sense but a part of him was horrified by the idea that angels could fall so far as to become such doers of evil. Then again, angels were warriors of God and warriors, no matter to whom they swore allegiance, were killers. Whether what they killed was darkest evil or purest good, warriors were warriors and death was what a warrior meted out.

Sam's breath caught and any portion of his mind contemplating the implications of Dean's words ceased. His father had taught him? His _father?_ The demonic bastard that stole Dean from them told Dean he was his _father?_ He heard Dean's words continue, about the laws of the underworld, about blood spells and how they offered the hunters protection, but his mind stayed locked on Dean's words. _"My father…"_

The bastard. The son of a bitch demonic bastard. He was not Dean's father! John was his father. Mary was his mother, and Sam was his brother. He was not the son of some twisted fallen angel. He belonged to Sam. He had and always would belong with Sam. The demon stole Dean. Took Dean from him. From Dean's family. Killed their mother, killed Sam's almost fiancé, killed his best friend, and ordered Dean to kill others. Made his brother into a heartless, cold murderer.

He felt the power begin to burn inside him as he seethed over those brutal, horrific facts. He felt all his fury, all his unabashed anger, flow together, roil together into a growing flame that blossomed dark and black in his chest. He felt the heat begin to build around him, felt something twist deep in his soul.

The demonic bastard would know pain unlike anything Hell had ever seen. Sam would shred the angel's black soul, would rip it apart, put it back together, only to shred it again. For every year it had kept Dean, for every day it masqueraded as Dean's father, for every single time Dean had been hurt or abused, that demon would experience more pain than even it could tolerate. It would scream and Sam would drink in its agony, each whimper a delicacy, each cry a feast….

 

* * *

Dean froze in the middle of buttoning up his shirt when he felt it. His eyes snapping up to Sam again in shock, and not a little bit of fear, when he realized what was happening. The hair on his neck standing on end as the air around them practically crackled with electricity. No…. A cold icy feeling bloomed in the pit of Dean’s stomach, a sharp contrast to the fiery buildup of dark energy he could feel inside of the younger man.

“Sam… stop, please, you have to stop… Sam? Sam!” Dean tried but it was like his brother wasn’t even listening to him. Maybe the younger man couldn’t hear him at all.

Dean knew all too well what it felt like. The feeling of all that rage, all that power, building up within the younger man. Dark. Seductive. Anger. Rage. Building up inside like a bomb ready to explode. His father had taught him how to channel it. Use it. Control it. It was what gave him power. It was what made him better, stronger, than other humans. Worthy to sit at Azazel’s side…

Yet feeling that same power echo, no, _stronger_ building up inside of Sam scared him. No, this shouldn’t be happening to Sam. This darkness, this taint of evil, inside something so pure, horrified Dean. It sickened him. He wanted to reach inside of Sam and tear it out himself. Dean didn’t care if he was tainted, corrupted, evil… but Sam… no, not Sam. He wouldn’t let it have him. He wouldn’t!

“Sam look at me… please…” Dean said as he reached out for the younger man, framing Sam’s face in his hands, trying to get his brother to focus upon him rather than whatever had triggered this. If Dean only knew what had triggered it… but he didn’t have a clue. “Please, Sam. You have to calm down. You have to focus. Listen to my voice. Relax…”

Nothing.

He could feel it all. All the darkness inside of his brother. He could feel the power inside of him answering in kind. Blooming up in his chest, even as it was held trapped inside of his body, under lock and key thanks to the magic pouch around his neck. Keeping it confined, keeping it from lashing out destructively without a target. Sam didn’t have that. There were only two options. The power building up would either last outwards, or within. Dean didn’t much care what might happen to him if he became the target of that rage fueled power, but if Sam drew it inside it could destroy him…

Desperately Dean reached out and pulled the younger man tightly against him. Chest against chest. Part of him hoping the physical contact would somehow reach his brother when his words did not. Another part of him hoping that the magic containing his own powers might somehow be transferred to Sam, at least in part, to soften the blow.

Desperately, not knowing what else to do, Dean called out to the hunters above.

“Help! Hunters! Bobby! Jim! Sam needs you! Help!”

* * *

Jim and Bobby had been diligently working to sort everything out that Bobby and Sam had purchased. Everything was divided up into stacks. Clothing. Protective supplies of salt and herbs and holy symbols. Food. Comfort items like air mattresses, blankets and heaters.

They really hadn't been paying any attention to the time, both silently agreeing to let Sam have whatever time he needed with his brother. Jim told Bobby about the earlier events and how Sam trusted Dean. Probably too much, but Jim felt confident Sam was right that Dean wouldn't hurt him. Not so long as he was in chains, anyhow.

When they heard Dean's muted voice of a cry for help, both men immediately stopped their respective tasks and rushed to the basement, salt loaded shotguns and holy water in hand. Bobby yanked open the door and practically took two steps at a time. He felt the pure electricity in the room, and one look at Sam's face nearly made his heart stop. The dark power that emanated from the young man, the twisted fury on his face. This was hardly the Sammy he knew and loved.

"Sammy?" Bobby asked, warily approaching the young man. "What's the matter Sammy?"

Sam's gaze cut to the old hunter. "He claimed to be his father! The bastard that stole him from us told Dean he was his father!"

A hot wind swirled in the room.

"I'm going to rip that bastard apart," Sam seethed. "He took Dean from us, made Dean into this," Sam howled. The basement windows shattered, blowing outward in unison.

"Sammy," Bobby tried to soothe, the sheer power surrounding the young man frightening him. "We'll get him. We'll save your brother. This isn't the way, Sammy. This isn't the way. No sense saving him only to lose you."

Sam's dark gaze raked over Bobby and Bobby went airborne, thrown across the room. Sam's gaze went to Jim next and ripped the gun and water from him. With a slight wave of his hand, Jim was pushed aside so he stumbled to his knees, but was not thrown through the air.

Ripping the hex bag from his throat, Sam screamed, "Come and get me you fucking coward! You want me? Here I am!" Sam pushed Dean away from him and stalked toward the stairs.

* * *

Dean only felt a moment of relief when the hunter’s appeared barely seconds after his shout. He was relieved even more when Sam, finally, reacted to them. Reacted to something other than the fury, pulled out of his dark rage long enough to actually speak, at least. However that relief was brief at best when Sam’s words penetrated and Dean understood the cause.

Sam was enraged because he had called Azazel his father… he hadn’t even thought of it, the word coming automatically to his lips. If he had known… but it was too late now.

Pain exploded in Dean’s head at the sudden burst of power from Sam, the ringing in his ears he barely heard the sound of the windows shattering. It became painfully obvious the hunters would have no luck in talking Sam down, any more than Dean himself had as he watched, horrified, as the younger man lash out at them. Not that Dean really cared in the least what happened to them, he only cared about Sam. What this was doing to Sam.

He had to stop it. He had to!

“Sam!” Dean cried out desperately to the younger man as his brother shoved him away roughly. Not nearly as roughly as the two hunters, but Dean had no way to hold onto the other man. No way to contain him, no way to stop him. Not the way he was now. Now he was just as helpless as he’d been while Dumah had tortured him. Now he was merely human, and Sam…

“Sam, no!” Without thinking, Dean reached up and tried to tear the hex bag off from around his throat and nearly screamed in frustration when he couldn’t. “Get this off me! Get this off me now! I have to stop him! Hunters, please…”

* * *

Bobby grunted as the air was knocked out of him. At least he hadn't been slammed into the fucking wall this time. He saw Sam knock Jim aside, but he hadn't sent the injured man airborne. Bobby nearly ignored Dean's scream of frustration and then his pleading. His gaze went from Sam, now without his hex bag and surely a beacon for any thing nearby, to Dean. The look on Dean's face was torment and fear and concern. If the man was faking it, he should win an Oscar. The panic in his voice cut through to Bobby's core. He grabbed the holy water and pulled out his silvered knife and strode over to Dean.

"Stand still," Bobby growled at him. "This is going to hurt like a sonuvabitch because I don't have time to do it right."

Bobby drenched the bag with holy water, muttering under his breath in Latin. He cut through three of the runes on the bag, feeling the electricity wash through him and he nearly staggered, but doggedly kept up the chant. Bobby knew he would be taking the brunt of the backlash from the spell bag. Running the blade across his palm, drawing blood, he then poured holy water over both the knife and the wound, then drew the blade through the purified blood. He took hold of the leather thong and wincing as he finished the Latin, using every ounce of strength he had to sever the leather cord. He let loose a cry of pain as the power in the spell bag all but exploded in his face. He fell backward, practically blinded, pain tingling through out all his nerves. He lay on the floor, small convulsions jerking his body.

"Save him, Boy. Save Sammy," Bobby begged before a final wave of power from the broken spell bag washed over him and the bag fell from Dean's neck. Darkness swallowed Bobby as he passed out.

* * *

Dean didn’t have time to feel the utter shock he knew he should have felt that the hunter was actually doing as he asked, removing the one thing that was truly keeping Dean a prisoner, keeping him from killing them all. While on some level he knew that what the older man was doing had absolutely nothing to do with any trust he might have in him, but everything to do with fear for Sam. They both knew that Dean was the only one who could stop the younger man right now. Quite frankly, Dean didn’t care one fucking bit the hunter’s reasons. He didn’t even care when the hunter warned him that removing the hex bag like this would hurt like a bitch. All Dean cared about was Sam.

The hunter was true to his word. When the leather cord around his neck snapped, Dean staggered a little from the pain of the backlash, but he didn’t fall. He barely spared a brief glance towards the hunter on the ground who had freed him, Dean was already running up the stairs, following Sam. Not caring how he stumbled, dizzy and more than a little unsteady from the feeling of his own powers rushing back to life. The feeling almost like having your arm or leg fall asleep, numb for hours, and then being forced to move it before all the circulation had returned. Of course the feeling was multiplied by about a thousand.

As Dean made it to the top of the stairs, Sam was already almost out the door, and the elder man reacted without thinking.

“Sam, stop!” He yelled, and almost before the words were even out of his mouth, the doors to the church slammed shut and locked themselves without barely a thought from Dean. His power surged outwards, wrapping around Sam and freezing him in place. Weaving itself around his brother like a net, like a cocoon, forcing the darkness back, keeping it contained. His brother might have more power than him, but Sam had no idea how to use it. Right now it was controlling him, not the other way around, and that gave Dean the advantage.

Dean ran to Sam, grabbing his brother’s arm and forced him around with both his physical strength, reinforced by his power. Dean held Sam firmly in both, forcing his brother to look at him, to listen to him.

“Stop. This isn’t you. This is what he wanted. But this isn’t you…” Dean said, softer now. Pulling Sam closer to him, wrapping his mind around his brother. Letting Sam feel him. Trying to force calm past the anger. “Come back to me. You’re mine. I’m yours, Sammy. Only yours…” He whispered, pulling the younger man hard against his body and kissing Sam hungrily. Pouring everything he was, everything he loved, into the kiss and into Sam. 

* * *

Sam walked up the stairs, the darkness in him driving him. Why hadn't he opened up to these powers before? They were intoxicating, they promised him the ability to do almost anything. These powers promised him that he could take down the demon who dared to take his brother and thought no retribution would be suffered for it. The demon was in for the biggest shock of its life. Sam didn't care if it burned everything out of him, if it turned him to ash, so long as that demonic son of a bitch was dead. So long as his brother was free of the false father, the master, the owner of his soul. Dean was his. He felt his power flare stronger as it coursed through him. He embraced it. He knew he would need everything to take the fallen angel down. Once outside the church, he had little doubt the demon bastard would come. He strode with determination toward those beckoning doors.

He heard his brother's voice, his demand, and Sam was about to brush his brother off when the doors to the outside slammed shut in his face. How dare anyone do this! This was his time to fight, to rend, to destroy.

And then a power wrapped around him and he couldn't move.

Sam dug deeper, feeding the fire with everything inside him. But then…that wave of fury and strength was pushed back, was chained. He railed against the net that held him firmly in place and struggled against his bindings.

Dean was suddenly there, forcing him to turn, forcing him to listen to him. What who wanted? He didn't care. He didn't care at all. Of course this was what he was meant to be and so it was him, no matter what Dean thought. If this is what it took to save Dean and destroy that demon, then he accepted it all without hesitation or regret.

The warmth and love suddenly poured into him, shattering the spell of the darkness. The power was still there, still at his fingertips, still ready to explode. Dean's kiss, that desperate kiss on his mouth, Dean's body pressed against him, and finally, Dean was totally and completely open to him. Everything that was Dean engulfed him. The sorrow, the anger, the pain, the rage…and his utter and complete love for Sam. In that moment, Sam could have destroyed Dean. Obliterated him. The hunger he felt in Dean, the desperation pulled him from his darkness. Dean shouldn't, wouldn't hurt like this. He wrapped his arms tightly around his brother, answering the kiss with equal hunger. He wanted Dean. And yes, he was Dean's. Totally and completely. The power in him shifted, entwining itself with Dean's until there was no division. There power was one. They were one. Their power wrapped around them both and the darkness that it had been shifted. It was not lust that now fed the power. It was love. The black turned golden, it caressed them, it healed them, and Sam pulled Dean as close to him as possible. His tongue met Dean's and Dean chased Sam's tongue back into his mouth. Sam moaned as his hands slid down to Dean's ass and pulled Dean against him. They were one. They would always be one. He was Dean's and Dean was his. That's the way it was meant to be and absolutely nothing could come between them. Sam had no doubt he would kill anything that tried.

 

* * *

For a moment Dean was afraid that Sam was actually going to try to fight him. He actually felt the younger man struggling against his power binding him, and Dean’s heart twisted painfully. Fighting Sam was the absolute last thing he wanted, but he would do what he had to. Even if Sam killed him in the process, Dean would do absolutely anything to keep the younger man from going after Azazel now like this.

Yes, Dean realized quickly with no small amount of horror, this is exactly what Azazel had wanted all along. Why he had been sent to capture, torture, and kill Sam’s father in front of him. Why the younger man’s friends had been murdered. He knew he was meant to test Sam, to awaken his powers, but this was what Azazel had truly wanted. For the younger man to lose control completely. For the darkness, the anger, the rage, to consume him completely…

If Dean had succeeded, there was a good chance Sam would have killed him then, in the mill, because he wouldn’t have been prepared for this level of power Sam displayed now. Hell, he truly hadn’t been prepared for the power Sam had used then, even without the magic solution that had bound his powers, making them absolutely useless.

Was that really what his father had wanted? For Sam to kill him? For Sam’s soul to burn away completely in the wake of his awakening powers? For Sam to take his place? The more powerful son… The boy, the pure, innocent, loving boy Dean had known lost forever, corrupted forever…

No. Dean wasn’t going to let it happen. As long as there was any breath left inside of him, he would never let that happen. He wrapped his arms around the younger man tighter. Pulled Sam so close not even air separated them. Prepared to do anything, absolutely anything, to stop it from happening. Then he felt the sudden shift in the power within Sam, he felt Sam respond to him, his brother’s arms wrapping around his body. Sam’s power no longer fighting against his, instead embracing it, reaching out to him, and Dean allowed it.

Dean gasped into his brother’s mouth. The feelings running through him, around them, flowing between them, were intense and indescribable. It was like what he’d felt before from Sam, when Sam had healed his shoulder, and again when they’d made love, he’d felt this power washing over him but he hadn’t been able to answer it before. Now he did, and it was beyond anything he’d ever felt before in his life. Even as close as he’d felt to Sam when he’d been buried deep inside him as a lover, it almost paled in comparison. As their powers, their minds, twined together, he honestly couldn’t tell where he ended and Sam began. In this moment in time there was no them. They were truly one, the same soul trapped in two different bodies, finally reunited…

He had no idea how long it lasted. It could have been for a few seconds or an eternity. But when the surge of power finally began to fade, throwing them back into their respective bodies, Dean could have wept at the loss. In fact, he wasn’t sure he wasn’t. The elder man clung even tighter to Sam, even as their desperate kisses grew soft and tender. The thought of being separated from the younger man more unbearable than any torture he’d ever known. 

* * *

Sam didn't want the power to fade. He wanted to be united with Dean as they were now, body and soul. He tried to shore it up, to stop it from disappearing through his fingers like sand, but he couldn't control it. Without the rage to feed it, the darkness dissipated and the golden love, while still there, urged the release of the burning power, urged Sam to find his way back to sanity.

Dean's kisses had gentled and Sam's softened in response. He pulled his mouth from Dean's but held Dean tightly, running his hand over the back of Dean's hair. He still felt it, the anger at what the demon had done, but revenge no longer consumed him. The power no longer held Sam gripped in its jaws. He had no idea how to control the power within him and Dean just proved to him he was no where close to ready to face the demon. He would have fallen—or been taken by it. To what purpose Sam could only guess, but suspected Sam would lose himself. A twisted soul, blackened beyond recognition as Dean had said demons were.

"You saved me, Dean," Sam whispered. He pulled back and was startled to see Dean's face wet with tears. Sam smiled at him as he wiped them away. "I'm okay. I'm myself again."

He let their hug end with regret and he could tell Dean didn't want to let him go either. "We have things to do. Blood spells to write on the walls, and you and I both need to get hex bags back on, just in case anyone this side of Hell missed what was probably a massive beacon announcing just where we're holed up."

Sam touched Dean's chest where the spell bag had hung. He wondered how Dean had escaped it. If he had the power to escape it, he would have before now. That meant…Jim or Bobby removed it. Concern filled him suddenly. He had tossed his friends aside like rag dolls. But whichever of the two—probably Jim, Sam suspected since Bobby didn't trust Dean worth a damn—removed it, they put faith in Dean to stop Sam, to save Sam. And Dean had. He gave Dean a last kiss. "I need to check on my—on our friends. And you have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt I have to learn to control these powers, or they will control me."

Sam looked at Dean's face and realized all the bruising that had been there was gone. Sam frowned as he felt something small stabbing him in the chest, and pulled up his shirt. The black threads that had stitched his injuries closed tumbled out and fell to the floor. Running his hand over the healed wound, he saw only a faint scar still visible. He realized too that he no longer hurt from his earlier recreation with his brother. He pulled Dean's shirt up and saw that the wicked bruising along Dean's ribs were gone. He healed again. Damn he really needed to learn how to control that power too.

Sam laughed softly. "Guess I won't be walking funny for the next week after all. When we have time, maybe you can fix that."

* * *

Overwhelmed didn't really begin to cover how Dean was feeling right now. In fact, he was overwhelmed by so many different emotions at once, he could barely define one from another. Of course he was relieved that he had managed to stop Sam. To keep his brother from trying to face off against Azazel. At the same time, Dean was terrified, because of what he'd done. Azazel wanted Sam. Dean had stopped Sam from going to him. Dean had just all but directly defied an order from Azazel...

He couldn't stop the slight tremors from running through his body as Sam drew away from him no matter how he tried. The gentle hand running through his hair, his brother carefully wiping away the wetness from his cheeks, his whispered thanks, did not even calm him. He simply couldn't believe what he'd just done... but Dean knew deep down if he had to make the choice all over again he would do exactly the same thing, no matter what the consequences.

Dean would never let any harm come to Sam. Not from anyone. Not even his fa... from Azazel.

The elder man gave Sam a nod of agreement when the younger man listed off the things they had to do. Sam was right. Someone would have felt that burst of power from Sam. Perhaps even Azazel himself. Something would be coming to investigate, and would be coming soon. They needed to be ready.

Though Dean wasn't exactly sure how to respond when Sam said he should check on _our_ friends. The two hunters downstairs were certainly no friends of his. As far as Dean was concerned, nothing had really changed. He had done what he'd done to save Sam. The hunter that had released him had done so for the same reason. He did not give a damn really whether those two men lived or died... but they would not die by Dean's hand. For Sam.

It was only when Sam suddenly pulled up his shirt and Dean saw the completely healed wound on his brother's chest that he realized he was no longer in pain either. Still he was a little shocked when Sam pulled up his shirt as well and even the heavy bruises on his chest were gone. The power Sam had was incredible... even the gunshot and stab wounds were healed, he felt completely fine now. Well, except the massive headache he had from fighting against Sam's burst of raw power. Yes, they needed to start training Sam how to control his abilities as soon as possible. Right after they were done setting up the defenses for the church.

Though Dean couldn't help but grin slightly when Sam mentioned them finding something else to do with their time... maybe. First things were first however.

"I'll start the blood spells." Dean said his own blood would have to do for the time being, besides, blood spells were always stronger when the blood used came from the caster. Very reluctantly Dean released the younger man and stepped away from him. "Go check on your... friends."

* * *

Sam saw Dean's grin at his suggestion, but he also could tell that Dean was deeply troubled by something. He wanted to ask, but then Dean spoke of the spells and stepped back, focusing on the very things Sam had mentioned they needed to do. He would ask later, once they were protected and had the luxury of pursuing whatever was bothering his brother.

With a soft sigh to himself, he could only hope Dean would eventually accept Bobby and Jim as allies, even if not as friends. Of course, he also had to convince the elder hunters to accept Dean in return. Somehow he figured mentioning that he and Dean, his brother, were also lovers would do little to help matters.

Sam walked with Dean toward the basement. He paused outside Bobby's work room. "You should find anything you would need in there." He touched Dean's arm and waited for Dean to look at him. "I know you said I can't trust you, and now you are out of your chains. There are weapons in there. There are the supplies for making the demon poison. There is demon poison in there. Since you stopped me, I'm going to guess you just went against your orders, unless training me is part of your orders. If…if you still feel you have to follow your orders regarding Jim and Bobby, tell me. I'll make them leave. I'll stay with you, but let them go. I…I don't want to have to chose between you and their lives. Just don't hurt them or Dad. If your demon wants them dead, then make him send someone else after them. I couldn't…it can't be you that hurts them. Please."

After giving Dean a tremulous smile he left Dean there as he picked up his pace to get to the basement. If he hadn't hurt Jim and Bobby then why weren't they up here? Or were they afraid of him? Sam snorted. He was afraid of himself, so he wouldn't blame them if they were.

"Jim? Bobby? I'm sorry," Sam called from the top of the stairs. "Dean stopped me, brought me back," he said as he started down the stairs.

Jim was at Bobby's side and Bobby was apparently unconscious. That was not where he had thrown Bobby, and he had been careful not to do more than move them out of his way. Even in his fury, he tried not to do more than maybe give them a bruise or two, which now almost made him sick. How could he believe that hurting his friends was acceptable?

Bobby lay near Dean's chains. Had Dean hurt him? He saw the fallen spell bag practically next to the hunters. A long cleansing process, Bobby had said would be needed to break the curse, to remove the bag. Bobby had released Dean? And now Bobby was paying for the breaking of the curse.

Sam was at their side almost instantly. "Jim, is Bobby…?"

"He's okay, Samuel. Knocked unconscious I think from the backlash of breaking the removal curses," Jim said.

Sam tried to find that healing power inside him, but all he could feel was a darkness beneath still waters just waiting for him to grow angry again, waiting to latch on again and try to take him over. He shuddered a little and let go of any attempt to draw upon his abilities. Unless Bobby was dying, he wasn't going there. Not without Dean to help him.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Sam said, hanging his head. "It just swept over me. I couldn't do anything to stop it. I didn't try to stop it. I wanted that demon's head on a platter for what it did to Dean and our family."

Resting his hand on Sam's shoulder, Jim smiled briefly and said, "That's okay Sam. It is obvious that you are going to have to learn to control these demonic powers or they will get you killed, or worse." Jim's gaze went toward the basement door. "Now that your brother is free, is he staying? Do Bobby and I need to watch our backs?"

"I asked him to tell me if he felt he had to follow his orders regarding the two of you. If he felt he had to hurt you. I think he will tell me, and I think he will let you two go if he does feel that way. He's going to work on some blood spells to put on the walls to keep the demons from knocking the church down on us. He needs blood, so we need to supply him with some. He can't cover every wall with his own."

Sam looked down at his unconscious friend. It was his fault. He got those he loved hurt or killed. Maybe he should make Bobby leave with Jim. However it played out, Dean would stay at his side, he knew that. And, he truly believed, would protect Sam with his life. Just as he would protect Dean. "I'm going to get an air mattress, a heater, and a blanket and bring them down. We'll get Bobby moved on to…"

His words died off as Bobby began to stir, groaning. "Anybody get the license of that train?" Bobby muttered.

"Yes," Jim said, "It was called Robert Singer's magical mystical curse of the spell bag."

Bobby grunted, giving Jim a half-hearted glare. He had a mother of a headache. He looked up and saw the worried face of Sam watching him. "I'm fine," Bobby said. "So Dean stopped you."

Sam nodded. "And he's putting blood spells on the walls. You want to try to get a little sleep? Dean and I can finish fortifying the church. And Jim, you need to get out of here. I have a feeling something will come calling before too much longer. I was surely all but a signal flare to every demon in the area…maybe you ought to go with Jim, Bobby."

"You ain't gettin' rid of me that easy Sammy. I'm the only one that can whip up the mojo juice and we're going to need it more like as not. Just get me some aspirin and give me about fifteen or twenty minutes and I should be back on my feet."

"Once he's up, I'll leave," Jim said. "Besides, you need my blood. Come on, Samuel, let's get to it while we wait for the old man here to get off his lazy butt."

Bobby gave them both the one fingered salute as he slowly sat up. His head was surely going to split open and maybe even shatter like the basement windows had. Speaking of which…

"Get the salt lines back on those windows down here, too!" Bobby called after them.

* * *

It was a little ironic that Sam was asking him, all but begging him, not to harm the two hunters downstairs now that he was free outside the very room he’d once been held prisoner. The room where the two men had injected him with the solution of herbs that had kept his powers bound and had caused him such torture.

When Sam left him standing there, Dean almost reached out to grasp the younger man’s arm to keep him here. The last thing he wanted was to be alone right now. He did not want to be alone with his thoughts, his fears… It was easier with Sam standing next to him, with his brother in his arms. Easier to remember why he was doing this, why he was… disobeying… something he’d never done in all his life. Why he was willing to suffer unimaginable torment. For Sam. He was willing for Sam…

Dean looked briefly towards the double doors that led out of the church. It would be easy, so very easy, to walk out of them now. Return to his father’s side. A disgrace. A failure. His punishment would be terrible both before and after his death. But at least he wouldn’t be a traitor… But that would not stop Azazel for coming for Sam. Taking his brother. Training him, as Dean had been trained. Turning him into something else…

He couldn’t let that happen. He simply couldn’t. Sam… the boy in his dreams that had always offered him such comfort, the only love he’d ever know… he couldn’t bear the thought of Sam being turned into something like him. Something worse. He would stay. He would train Sam. He would protect his brother with his life, or with his death. It didn’t matter, as long as Sam was safe.

Dean walked into the room, his gaze sweeping over the table and its supplies. Frowning as his gaze fell on the various herbs, vials of what was most likely his own blood, and the solution, the poison, he’d been injected with. He picked up a knife from the table, examining the razor sharp blade thoughtfully. It wasn’t his knife, but it would do.

Forgiveness wasn’t exactly a notion he was used to, and he certainly did not forgive the hunters for what they’d done to him. For that reason alone, he would have killed them slowly and painfully, without hesitation… if it wasn’t for Sam’s wishes. If it wouldn’t obviously cause Sam pain if he were the one who ended their lives.

No, they would not die by his hand. That did not mean if something happened he would go out of his way to protect them. Sam was his only concern. Sam was the only one he cared about. The rest of them could burn in hell for all he cared.

Dean ran the blade over the flat of his palm, the blade slicing easily through his flesh, opening up a wound that bled generously. Muttering the ancient, forbidden, words under his breath he walked over to the first wall. Dipping his fingers into blood on his hand and then tracing the runes onto the old wood, feeling the ancient power vibrating through his fingers and up his arm, swirling around him with every stroke he made.

Dean couldn’t help but smirk slightly as he finished the first spell. It had to be terribly ironic that he was using the language of the devil in order to protect a church of god. If he didn’t already know he was going to hell, this blasphemy would have surely given him a one way ticket there. The universe certainly had a sense of humor. Of course a joke was only funny when you weren’t the punch line.

* * *

"Jim, I really think Bobby ought to go with you," Sam said.

Jim laughed softly. "If he puts his mind to it, he can out-stubborn a Winchester, and I guarantee you, he'll put his mind to it. He's not going to leave you and your brother to fight alone. And he is right about the 'mojo juice.'"

"He can make it back at the motel and drop it off for us. We probably have enough to last us, and he can make more and then back us up outside."

"Samuel," Jim said patiently, "he's not going to leave, no matter what you want. So where is your brother?" Jim scanned the hallway once they got to the top of the stairs.

"Bobby's workroom. Figured it would have everything he would need." He watched Jim to see his reaction. They both knew everything that was in there.

Jim blanched a little at the idea, but took a deep breath and managed a small smile. "What say you find out if he intends to follow his orders regarding Bobby and I before I go into that room?"

"He won't hurt you so long as I'm with you. I promise," Sam said confidently, though he wasn't quite that one hundred percent confident on the inside. Almost, but there was that tiny doubt. He couldn't quite forget when Dean begged Sam to leave him in chains, telling Sam he couldn't be trusted. But Dean had proven he could be. Well, at least when it came to himself. But he believed Dean would honor his wishes. After all, Dean would surely know Sam would step between Jim and Dean if Dean threatened the older man.

Cocking an eyebrow at him, Jim gave a nod. "All right. Then let's go see him and how he's doing. Then I'll get the salt and aspirin and get it down to Bobby."

Sam led Jim in to the workroom where Dean was busy drawing on the wall with his own blood. A soft growl of words echoed ominously in the room, the murmur of syllables pouring from Dean in distinct sounds that overlapped and blurred together as the feeling of dark power permeated to room. A thrumming surged inside Sam, his skin prickling with icy fire as he listened in morbid fascination. A part of him wanted to fall back from those words, reject and deny them. Another part, however, rejoiced at their sounds, embracing and devouring the words and their meanings. Sam wasn't sure if he was going to puke in disgust, or sigh with pleasure. He felt the power that wrapped itself around Dean and saw the intangible shadows that danced in that power's wake. The words and power was old and strong, and he had absolutely no doubt the symbols would keep all but the most powerful demons away. He glanced over at Jim.

Jim was frozen and pale, staring aghast at the spell work Dean performed. "I cannot let him use my blood for defiling this holy place, no matter if it protects you, Sam," Jim whispered. "Nor will I permit Bobby's blood to be used in such a way. You must make your own choice, but I would argue against it."

Sam glanced back at Dean and his work, his brow creasing in regret. "We both know some of the blood inside me is demonic," Sam replied softly. "I understand that you can't do it. They are after me, and until I can stand and fight, I need this protection or I'm lost to them. If God has a plan like you always tell me he does, then Dean was returned to us to help us. To help me. And hopefully, in turn, I can save myself, Dean, and others. I don't have a choice Jim. I'm sorry. God will have to forgive me."

Jim finally turned away from the bloody symbols and retrieved the aspirin and a bag of salt. "I'll be downstairs with Bobby, Sam," Jim said, not looking back at the young man.

Jim felt the cold finger of fear run down his spine. If it took power like this to keep whatever was after Sam at bay, then he had little hope for Sam's survival. If Sam was truly strong enough to fight off such powerful external evil, he didn't know if Sam would have the strength to fight off the internal evil as well. Sam may be lost to them, regardless. He wished he could help Sam but this crossed a line the priest in him would not cross. As a hunter in self defense he had killed possessed innocents and often wondered if God would forgive him those murders. All he could do was pray for the souls of those he killed.

He had killed and destroyed evil ever since he had become a hunter those long years ago when the black dog had taken and killed his brother and little changed when he took up the bible. Bu this…how different was this? It was a sacrifice to save Sam. Whatever the demons wanted him for—no, there could be no doubt they wanted Sam for his power—then if Sam fell, evil would gain a powerful tool. Such a powerful tool would work to undermine God and if what Sam's brother had done before his capture was any indication of what lie in wait for Sam, it was imperative Sam not fall, no matter the cost. Even if it meant his damnation for such blasphemy. Jim briefly closed his eyes in regret. He turned back to Sam.

"If…if the two of you do not have enough blood, then…then I will help. But only then. Bobby's blood will only be used as a last resort. I will stay until your brother has done as many walls as he can with the blood between the two of you. Let me know either when you are done or when you need…my blood." With a small shudder, Jim quickly left the room.

Sam watched the elder hunter hurry out. That Jim was willing to do this told Sam just what Jim thought Sam's chances were, and just how dire the situation was. He had no delusions Jim was doing it to protect him, but rather to keep his power from the enemy.

He watched Dean a moment longer and found he was drawn to the power he felt his brother wield so effortlessly. He, like Jim, should retreat from this evil and he knew it. Instead he picked up a knife and cut his palm open, a soft hiss escaping him, mimicking what action his brother had apparently taken. After slipping the knife into his pocket, he approached Dean from behind, spooning himself against his brother as he wrapped one arm around Dean's waist and held his bloody palm beside his brother's in offering. He felt the power writhing around his brother stretch out its tentacles and entangle him in its dark warmth; the energy in the room flared darkly. Sam neither embraced nor refused that power that he felt. Inside he was so torn between horror and joy, he could not make a choice. He knew he could not work this spell himself or he may well give in to it. All he could do was offer what power was in him to join with his brother's in the protection of the church from the enemy that certainly would be calling all too soon.  


* * *

Dean had felt, more than heard, them come in the room but he did not acknowledge them. He did not allow his focus to shift, not even for an instant, away from the spell he was weaving. The ancient powerful words falling from his lips never faltered. His fingers drawing the blood runes onto the wall never stopped moving. Dean knew all too well the consequences of breaking the spell in the middle. Knew all too well the dangerous fires he was playing with.

He had been taught by Azazel himself how to control his powers as well as the dark forces he was conjuring up now. If there was one thing he could say the demon had been proud of him of, it was how well he’d learned his lessons. _All_ of his lessons. Even the ones that a “mere” human were forbidden to learn.

However he’d never used his powers or his knowledge for something like this before. Using it _against_ his master. There would be no doubt at all his involvement in this, for this knowledge was all but forgotten except by the most powerful of demons. Like his father. Given to no human before him… with every drop of blood he smeared onto the dirty half rotten wood of the abandoned church he was sealing his own fate.

And though he made no outward sign at all of reacting to the words passed between the other hunter and Sam, every one made him wish to bury the blade he was using to draw his own blood deep into the older man’s neck. Despite his “promise” to his brother that he would not harm the two hunters. His refusal to “allow” him to use his blood to “defile” this so called “holy place” even if it meant protecting Sam. Not that he could say he really expected anything differently from a fucking human, a hunter no less. It was probably a wonder they had not put a bullet in Sam’s heart the moment he’d returned to the basement to check up on them, after the display of power the younger man had shown. A glimpse of what Sam could become if Azazel had his way…

Dean felt his brother come up behind him, felt the power around him shift to encompass Sam as easily as though the younger man had always meant to be there. Dean’s voice did not waver, even as he dipped his already bloody fingers into the pooling blood on his brother’s hand to finish the spell, feeling the power of the spell intensify. Their blood mixing, stronger together then apart, perhaps even strong enough to defy the master who had taught him this magic.

When he had finished the first spell Dean rested a moment, knowing they really didn’t have much time before he had to start the next. He took a moment however to look over his shoulder and offer a brief smile to his brother before covering Sam’s hand around his waist with his own, then folding his bloody palm over Sam’s, twining their fingers together. Feeling a surge of power flow through him both warm and cool at the same time as their blood mixed and flowed between them.

“Our blood should be enough.” Dean said, looking at their joined hands, before muttering darkly under his breath. “They do not deserve your protection from me.” 

* * *

When Dean finally finished the spell Sam felt both relief and, perhaps frighteningly, a sense of longing to hear that ancient tongue spoken again, to feel the power that paced and flowed in the room during the casting. He smiled when Dean put his hand over his and he pulled Dean tighter against him. When his brother placed his bloody palm over Sam's and tightened his fingers, Sam felt the fresh flare of power as their blood mixed. It tingled and raced along his nerves, cold fire left in its aftermath. Tension tightened Dean's muscles as the anger at Jim was voiced. Sam nudged him for a kiss and Dean twisted his head. The kiss was brief, but long enough for their tongues to tangle and Sam to bite and tug a moment at Dean's lower lip with a grin before letting their kiss end. After the kiss he responded to Dean's soft and angry words.

"This simply surprised him. It surprised us both. For him the thought of using his blood like this goes so far against his nature at first blush he couldn't agree to it. You," and he tightened his hold around Dean's waist briefly, "should completely understand how hard it is to go against one's beliefs and one's nature. Jim recanted after he had a chance to wrap his brain around it. He did offer his blood if we need it. Knowing Bobby, he's going to want a blow-by-blow on this spell. Regardless of what Jim says, I think Bobby would be willing to offer his blood if needed. He's a bit more practical and certainly a lot less religious. If Dad were here he'd probably slit his wrist open and tell you to get on with it already. He is the epitome of practicality."

Turning his eye to the crimson runes, Sam watched small droplets of blood gather here and there along the marks. "I would guess, though, that only our combined blood is going to have any chance of being strong enough to stop them."

Sam leaned his head against his brother's, "If they can't get to us, are they going to go after Dad and Jim? I can't lose him, not now. If they even threaten to, I'll walk out of this church and you know it. Just like with you, knowing it's a trap, I'll go. Are Dad and Jim's hex bags going to be enough to hide them? If not, can you make stronger ones?"

Stiffening suddenly, Sam began cursing and pulled away from Dean. "Dammit, we need our hex bags back on." He glanced back at his brother. "Or are they moot at this point?"  


* * *

Dean tilted his head back when he felt Sam nudge his cheek, knowing exactly what his brother wanted and he opened his mouth eagerly for the kiss he was given. Sighing softly as he leaned back into his brother’s weight, twining his tongue with Sam’s warm and slow, and returning the younger man’s slight grin when Sam nipped at his lower lip before pulling away. Dean’s next sigh was one of regret.

Though the elder man frowned a little at Sam’s defense of the hunter, Dean not really liking the comparison between himself and the older man, he nodded in acquiescence. A day ago, if he’d been freed, Dean wasn’t sure he’d be doing this, even for Sam. Now he was defying his master, his “god”, to protect his brother.

Azazel had been all he knew. He had no will of his own. Azazel’s will was his will. He obeyed, nothing more. Before he’d met Sam, all he had ever known of love and comfort was a dream. A dream that had meant the world to him, but it had still been only a dream. Intangible…

Now that he had held Sam in his arms, real and alive, felt his love… he couldn’t let him go, couldn’t give him up, not for anything. It didn’t matter to him what punishment he might suffer. What damnation awaited him… perhaps it was too much to expect others to value Sam as much as he did. But the priest had, in the end, given his consent to give his blood if it was needed. Dean supposed that was something.

Dean gave another slight nod, though he wasn’t exactly sure what he should say, if anything, to the younger man’s comments about Bobby and Sam’s father. But it wouldn’t really surprise him if both were true. Bobby, the man who’d taken such satisfaction in torturing him yet had freed him, given him the chance to save his brother. His… father… their father…

Dean was glad when his brother changed the topic to more reasonable, if not safer, subjects.

“Animal blood alone would have offered a powerful protection on its own. Human blood even more so. Our blood… It would take the demonic equivalent of a nuclear explosion to destroy this spell.” Dean said matter-of-factly.

Dean frowned a little when Sam spoke of risking himself to save his father if he were threatened. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have cared about the injured man in the hospital or the hunter going to guard him, but if keeping Sam safe meant keeping them safe as well… Dean sighed. “I can copy the runes on paper. Give them to your priest and tell him to use animal’s blood, it will be strong enough protection in most cases.”

When Sam suddenly pulled away from him, asking him about the hex bags, Dean frowned again but closed his eyes. Reaching out a little with his powers, though not wanting to be a beacon like his brother had been he tried not to use too much. He felt the dark ripple of evil energy, closing in much too quickly for his liking. It wasn’t his father, that much was for certain. A small blessing at least. Dean opened his eyes again.

“You’ve just come into your powers, they won’t recognize your signature yet. That gives us a small advantage. The way the power changed at the end is sure to throw them off too. Unfortunately something is coming, and quickly, to investigate. It will need to be destroyed before it can send word back to my fa… my master.” Dean said before turning quickly to the next wall. “I need to finish the spells before it gets here. Tell your hunter friends to be ready.”

* * *

When Dean closed his eyes at Sam’s question, Sam felt tendrils of power quietly reach out from Dean, searching. He wanted to explore if he could follow those tendrils or replicate those tendrils, but he knew now was not the time. His brother was obviously looking for something that would answer Sam’s concerns and it would be all too easy for Sam to mess up. If he tried, it was likely his “battering ram” approach would be another signal flare telling everything out there that the brothers were watching for them.

Sam felt the tendrils draw back and when Dean opened his eyes to meet Sam’s steady gaze, his words eased Sam’s mind some but only some. That the enemy wouldn’t know it was Sam would be a benefit and probably help limit what came hunting him. It may buy them some time for Dean to give Sam a crash course. Yeah. Demonic Powers for Dummies. There's a book he needed. Heck, maybe he would write it. If he survived this.

He couldn't help a small smile when Dean corrected himself and didn't call that demon bastard his father. Master. Yes, slave master. One that Sam swore he would emancipate his brother from. He watched as Dean turned to the next wall, his discomfort, his…fear, as tangible as the dream boy was now.

Striding over to Dean, he gripped Dean's shoulder and turned Dean to face him. "We'll protect each other. Like brothers should. Like…lovers…should. We'll survive this. We'll both escape because I'm not losing you and I'm not leaving you."

He pulled Dean into a firm embrace, not caring that he was smearing his blood across Dean's back, not caring that Dean was doing likewise, and he kissed Dean with every bit of passion in him. His drove his tongue deeply into Dean's mouth, tangling with Dean's and spending a moment investigating and claiming everything his tongue touched. When he finally broke the kiss, he followed it with a small kiss then stepped away. Taking Dean's hand that was wounded, he clenched his own into a fist, drawing forth fresh blood, and held it above Dean's hand, letting his blood flow to mix with Dean's.

"I'll go let them know. I'll be back in time for the next wall."

Sam headed out the door and lengthened his stride to carry him to the basement quickly. He raced down the stairs, noting that Jim had fixed all the salt lines on the windows. Jim sat at the table, still looking a bit pale. Sam's attention turned to Bobby who was definitely looking better. Sam flicked his eyes back to the pastor.

"You okay, Jim?" Sam asked worriedly.

Jim broke into soft laughter. "I'm letting demonic blood and spells protect a church. It may be old, it may be abandoned, but it is still a holy place. At least it was."

Bobby snorted. "Still is and you know it, Jim," he said as he climbed a bit shakily to his feet. He waved at Sam. "Get your damned hex bag back on, Boy. And I guess I need to make a new one for your brother that doesn't have the fancy extras."

"They know we're here. Something's coming to investigate my fireworks display. Dean says we have to take it out before it can report back to Dean's boss.

"I'll be the bait," Jim said. "They can't resist going after a priest."

"Let's talk this over with Dean. Hopefully he'll know the best way to take this demon out. I don't know if it's a lesser or greater demon, but he might and he'll be able to use his abilities to help." His gaze swung back to Bobby. "Thanks for believing me, for trusting him enough to let him go."

Bobby gave a curt nod. "Don't take a genius to see that boy cares as much about you as you do about him, demon reared or not. That desperation and fear that was on his face weren't something anyone could readily fake. Not to say I trust that boy at my back, mind you, but I trust him at yours."

A lopsided smile split Sam's face. "Yeah. Probably a wise call."

"Jim," Bobby said, "why don't you go check the rest of the salt lines. I need to whip up a new hex bag for demon boy and by the time I'm done, maybe the four of us can sit down and come up with a plan that'll keep Sammy, and the rest of us, in one piece for another day."

Bobby leaned in close to Sam as they headed for the stares. "I hope he's not done casting yet. I want to see that boy in action. And I really hope he don't hold grudges."

 

* * *

When he felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder Dean turned around with a raised eyebrow in question. He accepted Sam’s words of comfort with a slight nod. Sam’s confidence reassuring him maybe more than it should, given the direness of their situation, but it did. When his brother leaned in to kiss him, even knowing they really didn’t have time for such things, Dean accepted it as well. Opening his mouth with a moan of pleasure, allowing his brother’s tongue free reign inside his mouth, loving the way Sam claimed it for his own. Loving the way Sam held him so securely. Claimed him for his own. His brother. His lover. His everything…

A small sigh of regret escaped Dean’s lips in spite of himself when Sam pulled away from their kiss and embrace, but the elder man reminded himself they would have plenty of time for that later. Dean would make sure of that, no matter what it took. He was not going to lose Sam now. Nothing was going to take his brother away from him. Nothing.

Dean cupped his hand to catch his brother’s blood, giving the younger man another small nod before turning back to his task. The ancient words coming easily to his lips. The power flowing even easier to his fingertips than before.

His control over his power feeling greater somehow. Perhaps it was because he was using his brother’s blood as well as his own to complete the spell, the younger man’s blood, like his abilities, much more powerful than Dean’s own. Or perhaps it was because of the way they’d been joined, however briefly, their powers twining together, becoming inseparable.

He didn’t know, but something was definitely different. Another thing he would have to try to understand… Dean snorted, add it to the fucking list. As though he wasn’t questioning enough about his entire purpose for living already. Though the answer to that seemed to be quickly narrowing down to one thing, and one thing only. Sam.

Dean finished the spell runes on the wall as quickly as he was able to, this definitely was not something to be rushed, but he didn’t have much choice about that. At least he only had to worry about the outer walls. They definitely wouldn’t have enough blood to complete the task if they had to do the inner walls as well, not without slitting open one of their necks at least.

He completed the last wall in the workroom and moved quickly to the main room just as the hunters came up the basement stairs. Dean barely spared them a glance before turning back to his task. 

* * *

As Sam started to head for Dean, Bobby grabbed his arm. "Boy, don't you know better than to interrupt a man when he's casting?"

Sam smile. "It's okay Bobby. The runes are stronger when he has both our blood to work with, and I know what I left him with has got to be getting thin. And," Sam blushed a little, "uh, don't be reading too much into what I'm about to do, okay? It's the only way I know of that won't interrupt his focus."

Bobby cocked an eyebrow at him. His glance went from Sam to Dean and back again. He gave a sigh. "Yeah. I know."

Sam's eyes widened just a little and his blush grew stronger. "You know what, Bobby?"

After a moment of hesitation, Bobby said, "That you two are stronger together. What did you think I meant idjet? Now, git. I'll get his hex bag made up."

"Bobby?" Sam questioned.

Bobby ignored him and headed into his workroom.

Sam watched him disappear through the doorway. Bobby knew. Well, fuck. Maybe he only suspected and didn't want Sam to confirm it. Sam was fine with that option. Better than fine, in fact. So maybe he hadn't managed to cover as well as he hoped he had.

His gaze went to his brother. With a few quick strides he rejoined his brother just as he had before, pushing the embarrassment aside for now. Dean didn't need any distractions. He still felt the mix of repulsion and joy at hearing Dean's words and feeling the power, but as before, he knew his brother would protect him. He swore Dean's voice grew stronger when he spooned himself against Dean and the power definitely flared just as it had before. Yes. Bobby was right. They were stronger together.

* * *

Dean felt Sam come up behind him again, and though his words never faltered he leaned back into his brother’s embrace. Once more feeling the power swirling around both of them. Sam’s strength adding to his own, his brother’s blood and his own turning this old abandoned church into a nearly impenetrable fortress.

Dean moved from wall to wall, not stopping, even though he felt his exhaustion growing with every cast. The energy required to perform the spell beginning to take its toll on him. Which wouldn’t much of an issue if he could rest afterwards, but there was a good chance he would have to fight not long after he was finished protecting the church.

What if he didn’t have the strength left to combat the thing that was coming? He would have to. Somehow he would have to. It had to be destroyed, before it could inform Azazel about Sam and his powers. It couldn’t be allowed to escape.

When Dean finally finished the last of the runes on the last wall, he all but collapsed back against Sam, breathing heavily and sweating a little from exertion. 

* * *

Sam felt Dean’s weight shift against him and he pressed against his brother, confirming he was there and offering all the strength he had to help. He felt the slight tremor in Dean as his brother continued the work undaunted, but Sam could feel the sweat beginning to roll down his brothers back. He honestly was beginning to feel a little light headed himself as the blood from his palm was used and more pooled into his palm to replace it. It wasn’t as if a light sheen of crimson would build the runes; they needed to be solid and strong. Maybe if they hadn’t had their sexathon, he would feel less tired but he knew he couldn’t afford to waver any more than Dean could. He prepared himself to take over for Dean if he had to. The spell, at this point, was burned into his brain and he wasn’t particular sure if that was a good or bad thing. He suspected it was going to get ugly and get ugly quickly if what Dean said was true about company coming and he had no doubt it was. He wondered briefly if the church was so strongly fortified how they would draw the demon in, how they would stop it from telling Dean’s master that they were here. A devil’s trap would force the demon back to Hell once expelled but he wished there was a way to flat out destroy it. He wasn’t sure if by sending it back to the depths of the Underworld it would simply allow it to report that much sooner. He would have to ask Dean that. Maybe Dean knew a way to completely destroy it.

With the last wall done, Sam was a bit caught off guard when Dean practically collapsed in his arms.

“You’re done. I’ve got you brother. I’ve got you,” Sam murmured, kissing Dean’s temple. “What say we let you rest until Mr. Badass makes an appearance?”

Dean’s mute agreement told Sam just how exhausted his brother was. He helped his brother up and turned to guide him to Bobby’s workroom, surprised to see the elder hunter leaning against the wall watching them. Bobby stepped forward and took Dean’s other arm, helping Sam get Dean into the room.

“Dean.” Bobby said a little gruffly, I’ve got a hexbag ready to be made up, but I want you to look over it, make sure I didn’t put something in there that would mess with your abilities. Yours and Sam's are the same. If it messes with you, then his bag will mess with him.”

With a jerk of a head Bobby had Sam help Dean into a chair. He had lain out on the table a grouping of herbs, talismans and crystals.

“The spell bag Sam’s wearing has: fragments of obsidian, bloodstone, clear quartz, tiger eye and cats eye shells. This is all mixed into purified and blessed sea salt. Herbs of sage and vervain, a rowan wood twig, dragon’s blood, white and red silk braided thread, a silver pentagram, salt and pepper goofer dust, holly splinters soaked in black water, lodestone peppered with iron, amulet against possession, fern seeds soaked in heliotrope oil, mistletoe and poppy seeds…” Bobby pointed each item out until each small pile was accounted for. “And the bag is soaked in salted holy water. Anything you want in it I don’t have? Anything that ought not be included? And do I need to make these changes in Sam’s bag, and ours for that matter?”

Bobby glanced at Sam. “I’ve got some coffee made up.” He jerked his chin toward the table on the other side of the room where the coffee pot had just finished brewing. “Those donuts we picked up should be in one of the two or three bags beside that table. You both look like you could use some sugar and caffeine. And there are those orange juice boxes in with the donuts. For the blood you boys used, you need that too. Bring me back a coffee too, if you’ve got enough hands.”

Sam squeezed his brother’s shoulder and headed over to the table with the coffee. Bobby was right. They needed food and this would give them a jump start until they could get some real food down their gullets. He silently prayed Dean was cooperative and civil to Bobby. At this point, Bobby seemed to consider Dean just another hunter. Maybe a dangerous one that he couldn’t necessarily trust, but a comrade all the same. He hoped Dean recognized that.

* * *

Despite how tired he was, Dean couldn’t help but smile faintly when his brother’s lips touched his temple. Normally such a display of weakness would be unacceptable. Maybe he was getting soft. Dean didn’t really like that idea, but at the same time he couldn’t say he minded the feeling of the younger man’s arms wrapped securely around him. Sam helping him… he’d always had to stand on his own, before now. It was a little strange, though he supposed not in a bad way, having someone willing to stand with him.

Dean nodded to Sam’s suggestion, yes, he needed to rest and recover his strength so he’d be able to fight. He was just as surprised as Sam, even more so, when he saw the older hunter standing there watching them. He was even more surprised when Bobby came over to them… to help him.

Though he’d tensed when the older man took his arm, he allowed it without complaint, mostly because Sam was there. He probably wouldn’t have allowed the help, despite his exhaustion, if his brother hadn’t been there. Dean let them lead him back into the workroom and gratefully sat down.

He raised an eyebrow however when the older hunter addressed him, by name, Dean was sure it was the first time he’d done so. Dean tried not to be, but he couldn’t help being more than a little impressed when Bobby listed off the components of the hex bag he was making. To protect him and keep him off the demon’s radar…

This man who’d injected him with that poison with no idea what it would do to him, now willing to protect him? At best, he would have expected the other hunters to want him back in chains, with the old mojo bag around his throat again to contain his powers once he’d saved Sam. Not that he would have allowed them to do either of those things, but he’d still expected it. Not only had it not even been mentioned, the other man had helped him into a chair (without chains), and was now making him a new hex bag to protect him.

Dean couldn’t help feeling a little mystified, and more than a little distrustful, but he couldn’t deny his own eyes. Though he didn’t know exactly what had been in that old mojo bag, nothing laid out on the table would harm him, as far as he knew, and he knew quite a bit about spell and poison ingredients.

“They should be efficient.” Dean finally had to admit, there was really only one thing he could think of to make them even stronger. He leaned forward and picked up an empty bowl, making a fist over it and squeezing a bit more blood from his hand that was still bleeding sluggishly. He’d probably have to wrap it after this. Then he reached for a scrap of paper and sketched out some symbols similar to the ones he’d drawn on the walls.

“Draw these symbols on the bags in the blood, it will offer extra protection.” Dean said before he sat back in the chair again. Giving the older man no other explanation of what the markings would do. His eyes instead following Sam as the younger man went over to get them all some coffee. 

* * *

  


Bobby studied the paper Dean handed him, his brow furrowed. He recognized some of the symbols but had never seen this particular construction of them before. After adding them to his book, he would pick Dean's brain about what each meant in this particular sequence. Shuffling through a few piles of different jars and bags, he found the target of his search and pulled out the raven feather. He sharpened its shaft with his pocket knife and after studying the runes one more time, committing them to memory, he pulled the bowl of Dean's blood close. After a moment of hesitation, he set them aside and instead began building the hex bag, murmuring the necessary spells to strengthen and combine the spell components as he put each component in the bag in the proper order.

Meanwhile Sam dug through the bags and pulled out the bag of donuts, the juice, a couple apples, some cheese, and some napkins. He felt Dean's eyes watching his every move. Was Dean afraid he was going to disappear? Or was he thinking about what the two of them could be doing after they got themselves some sleep? Admittedly, amazingly, Sam was too tired to even think about jumping his brother's bones. Okay, maybe not. His mind was more than willing. His body had other ideas and insisted Sam consider sleep before sex for a change. And sleep did sound really good. He eyed the air mattress already blown up, just waiting for an occupant.

Reassuring himself that unless something came knocking on the door in the next ten minutes, he and Dean ought to be able to catch a nap at the least. Maybe some real sleep if given an hour or two. Focusing back on his task at hand, he emptied one of the bags of the rest of its contents, and then refilled it with the items he had set out. Pouring the coffee, he carried everything back to the table. Well, Bobby didn't look upset or annoyed and Dean hadn't tried to strangle or kill Bobby. All things considered, things were going better than he expected.

His brother continued to watch him and he smiled at Dean. In a few hours or a few minutes, life was going to suck. He would take what he could get right now. He set the three coffees down on the table and then carefully set the bag of food down, trying not to disrupt Bobby's spellwork. Normally Bobby just assembled the bags. That he was casting additional spells on them surprised Sam. As soon as Bobby finished he looked up at Sam.

"Thanks for the coffee. Now you put some of your blood in with your brother's," Bobby said nudging the bloody bowl towards Sam.

Sam stretched his hand open, wincing, reopening the wound, then squeezed his fist over it, mixing his blood with his brother's. Bobby took the bowl and stirred the blood together.

"Sam, the bandages are over there." He gestured to a pile near the wall. "If we have demons headed our way, you might want to just wash the wounds and loosely bind them. I'm not sure what all that blood of yours can do, but you might need access to the blood and it shouldn't be contaminated with ointment. When this first round is over, we'll bandage you boys up properly."

"Probably a good call," Sam said and retrieved the bandages and a bottle of water. He sat down in a chair beside Dean. Dean's eyes hardly left him and he almost blushed at the attention.

"Give me your hand," Sam said, a sudden shyness coming into his voice. It wasn't like Dean was leering, it was more like…admiration? Possession? Sam wasn't really sure. It didn't make him uncomfortable, not in the least, but just the way Dean looked at him made him well, feel a little self conscious but in a good way. A way that sort of made his heart flutter in his chest.

Bobby picked up the raven's feather and after mixing the brothers' blood together, inscribed the runes onto the hex bag. He hadn't more than finished the inscription when he jerked back from the bag.

"Sonuvabitch!" Bobby said, staring at the leather pouch.

The bloody runes glowed red, then turned gold, shining brightly. Tendrils of gold and black intertwined and wrapped around the bag, blanketing every inch of it. The tendrils sank into the leather and an odd sort of faint spiral of gold and black was left etched on its surface.

The older hunter eyed Dean. "Now I'm not no expert on the Abyssal Tongue and its writings, but that ward ain't suppose to do that, is it?

* * *

Dean listened with half an ear to the hunter’s soft muttering of spells over the hex bag while his eyes continued to follow his brother’s movements. Silently contemplating what their next course of action might be against their approaching attacker.

Though he hated to admit it, it was obvious that Bobby knew what he was doing. The spells combined with the ingredients in the hex bags would offer them powerful protection against being detected by any demonic forces in the area. The older man might just be useful after all, for now at least. As more than just cannon fodder.

Dean’s opinion of the priest, however, had not changed much. Well, maybe it had worsened, if that was even possible. After the older man’s refusal to let him use his blood for the spells protecting the church, refusing to do his part to protect Sam because of the fear his “loving” god would spank him for it. Dean snorted softly. No, Dean certainly wouldn’t mind if the demon that came hunting them took out the priest before they got rid of it. He was useless.

Even though the older man _had_ managed to contain, and even wound him, when he’d tried to escape the first time. Dean attributed that more to luck than skill. If he’d had his powers then, the priest would have been nothing but a steaming pile of meat once Dean was through with him.

It was really too bad that Dean already knew it would be futile to try to convince Sam of the most reasonable plan of action. To leave the church with him and leave the two older men alone to face what was coming. If the demon came and found only the two hunters, it would have nothing to report back to Azazel, simple as that. But Dean knew Sam would never sacrifice his “friends” that way, so he had to come up with another plan. Banishing a demon to hell was rather easy, killing one was much harder.

Dean watched as Sam added his blood to his own in the bowl at Bobby’s request, nodding slightly in approval. The hunter caught on quick. A faint smile curved Dean’s lips when Sam sat beside him and he held his hand out obediently for the younger man at his request. Watching his brother carefully, Dean was fascinated by the play of emotions crossing Sam’s face. The light flush that touched the younger man’s cheeks making Dean’s smile broaden and he reached up with his other hand to gently caress Sam’s face with the backs of his knuckles, his thumb tracing the younger man’s lower lip.

Bobby’s sudden exclamation drew his attention however and Dean’s hand dropped once more as he turned to see what had happened. His eyebrows drawing up slightly as he watched the reaction their blood and the spell had upon the hex bag.

“Not normally so powerful.” Dean replied to the older man’s question, even though he felt it was rather obvious by this point.

“The runes, much like the ones protecting the church walls, protect the wearer against demonic energy. Salt, holy water, and iron are fucking useless if a demon decides to just make your heart explode in your chest or disintegrate you in a flash of light.” Dean actually smirked. “If a demon tries anything against someone wearing that ward, they’re going to be in for a surprise.”

* * *

Sam leaned into Dean's touch and smiled, his gaze locking with Dean's. Bobby explicative drew his attention and he watched in fascination as the spell wrapped itself around the hex bag. Sam had to bite back his laughter at Dean's nonchalance about it.

Bobby shook his head. "Okay, so apparently I don't know as much about demon magic as I thought. I didn't expect it to do more than give a bit of a glow that faded, no matter how strong the magic. When we get time, I'd really like us to have a sit down and you give me a bit of a lesson in some of this."

Motioning Sam to hand over his hex bag, Sam quickly complied to Bobby's request. Bobby glanced surreptitiously at Dean. He'd seen the play between the brothers. Sam's flush. Dean's touch. Dammit. He was going to owe Jim a bottle of good wine when they got out of here. Jim called it right. But after the show those boys apparently gave Jim, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised Jim was right. He just never expected Sam to swing that way. He guessed Sam considered Dean more of a long lost friend instead of a long lost brother and Bobby was more than happy to think that way than that they were brothers having sex—no, making love, Bobby decided. Two friends, in love. He would cling to that concept rather than think of that nasty little word 'incest'.

"Salt lines are reinforced, devil's traps are all in good order," Jim said as he walked into the room. His gaze swept over the three men as their gazes swung to him. He knew good and well Bobby sent him off to check everything to give him time to readjust his thinking.

Jim had been a hunter long before he had become a priest. It had been a long time since priest and hunter beliefs collided with one another. Right now he had to be a hunter first. Church or not, this was their battle ground and Bobby was right. Tools were tools and if that meant demonic tools were going to be used to fight a war against demons…well, God probably wouldn't approve, but Jim would beg forgiveness later. These were John's boys. They were in his care and he would do whatever it took to see them safe.

"Dean gave me some runes to write on your hex bag," Bobby said to Jim. "In blood. You okay with that?" Bobby asked eyeing the man. He wasn't quite sure which side of the fence Jim was going to come down on.

Jim pulled off his hexbag and tossed it onto the table. "Whatever it takes, Bobby." Jim swung his attention back to the brothers.

"I'm sorry for reacting the way I did," he said to Dean. "I've been a priest first and a hunter second for so long…I just haven't had to be a hunter first, not in years. And most times I've seen runes like these," he waved his hand at the bloody sigils, "they've been associated with some horrific scenes."

Grinning, Sam bobbed his head once. "That's okay, Jim. I'm glad you're okay with it now."

Jim raised an eyebrow at him. "I am not okay with it. I think it's blasphemy and I have no doubt I'll be making amends for this for years to come. But, if this is what it takes to keep you two boys alive, then this is what it takes. If these tools will keep John safe from the demons, then I'll chant the damning words and write the bloody runes. The survival of you two are the most important thing to me. And not just because you both would make powerful tools in the demon's army, but because you are John's sons and John is like my brother. He just got you both back. I won't see him lose you again." He looked pointedly at Dean. "Either of you."

The flash of the activating runes on Sam's hexbag drew Jim's eyes. "Sonufabitch, that's one hell of a spell. Getting gold out of black magic is not an easy feat."

Jim pulled the paper Dean had drawn the symbols on over to him. After reading them he rolled his eyes and sighed. "Good lord, I am going to burn in Hell for this," he muttered.

Bobby scowled at him as he handed Sam's hexbag back to the young hunter. "You can read that?"

"Bobby, you may have mastered far more lore and ancient tongues that I could ever hope to in my entire life, but I am a hunter-priest. Of course I can read the enemy's tongue. I'm limited in that I've only ever laid hands on two books with the writings in it, but I can read it well enough."

"How come you never told me…" Bobby began, thoroughly irritated.

"Because it's only useful when you're going head to head with demons, and we're usually not that stupid." Walking over to his backpack, Jim opened a pouch and pulled out a thin black wooden box with glyphs and silver lines coating its surface. He handed it to Bobby. "We may need these." Jim refocused on Dean. "There are a couple spells in those books that I was never able to sort out. Maybe they'll be useful to you. I've got a feeling they, like these symbols you put on the walls, aren't your everyday magic.

Jim motioned to the door he just came through. "I found a ladder in a closet down in the hall you boys can use to finish up fortifying the church."

"We're done, Jim. All the walls have been handled," Sam said, confused.

Jim folded his arms across his chest. "You don't think it might be a good idea to slap one of those protective sigils on the ceiling and one on the floor?"

 

* * *

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly when the hunter suggested they have a “sit down” later to discuss demon magic, and wondered briefly if the man was deranged. As though Dean had forgotten how their last little “sit down” had gone, the two older hunters torturing him, which to be honest Dean couldn’t really fault them for. It was expected, after all, he had been a prisoner, and he might even be able to respect them a little for it, because at least then it had been _honest_. But this… Dean wasn’t even sure what to call it. This forced civility, as though they’d forgotten everything that had happened before the moment Sam had lost control and they’d been forced to release him in order to save the younger man. As though they’d completely forgotten who, and what, he was, and he was supposed to do the same now.

He had put up the blood spells on the walls to protect Sam. He hadn’t tried to kill the two older men also because of Sam. He had given Bobby the runes to write upon the hex bags for his own protection and Sam’s, and while that protection would also extend to the other hunters that was also because of Sam. So it was less likely that Sam would do something foolish to save his “friends” if something bad happened.

Sitting down for “chats”, modified interrogation sessions, to share all his secrets, was certainly not in the deal. Quite frankly, the older men’s new behavior around him was making him uncomfortable and suspicious. Especially when the priest came into the workroom and actually _apologized_ to him. Dean’s frown only deepened when Jim made his little speech about not wanting to lose _him._ Yeah… right… If he went down in the fight that was to come the only one who would be shedding any tears for him would be Sam, and that was fine with him. Sam was all he cared about, just like Sam was all the hunters cared about. At least they could fucking admit it.

When the priest mentioned the ladder and suggested some more runes be placed on the ceiling Dean was all too happy to have an excuse to leave the room.

“I’ll do it.” He said as he pushed himself up from the chair. Ignoring the lingering weakness he felt as he pushed past the priest and walked out the door. He was rested enough to perform at least two more spells, even if he wasn’t, there wasn’t anyone else who could. 

* * *

Bobby and Jim glanced at each other when Dean made his rapid escape from the room. They had both seen his growing scowl, had seen his eyes grow dark.

Jim knew the young man didn't believe him. Dean had been as distrustful of his olive branch when they shared a meal as he was now. He was certain he hadn't scored any points when his knee-jerk reaction to the horrible bloody runes on the wall had almost made him lose his meal and furthermore he refused to help. Perhaps admitting he hadn't really had a change of heart, but simply realized what was necessary hadn't helped anything either. Was he supposed to lie to the man? A part of Jim wasn't comfortable with Dean running around loose and he would readily admit that. He suspected Sam was the only reason the man hadn't struck both he and Bobby down the instant Sam was out of danger…and the man probably thought the same. Expected Jim and Bobby to try to put him back in chains. Expected nothing but the worst from them. That is what he had been taught growing up. Certainly Jim being a priest was an additional mark against him. Considering how fast everything had happened, he couldn't blame Dean but really, what were Bobby and Jim supposed to do?

Sam trusted him…Sam trusted them. Dean was staying on the straight and narrow because of Sam. He had never had anyone care about him other than Sam. Jim and Bobby had tortured him. To be fair, he felt justified in what they had done, even if the response to the liquid had been violently painful. One of his best friends lay in a hospital bed in ICU because of this man. They all knew quite well what Dean was capable of.

"Convince him we're on his side, Sam. At least we would like to be," Jim said.

"Give the kid some time, Jim," Bobby said gruffly. "He don't trust us anymore than we trust him. If not for Sam, he would be dead by now and he knows it."

"And the reverse is probably true," Jim countered.

"He don't understand forgiveness and that ain't going to change just cause we want it to. Besides, one look at John and I gotta admit, I still want to put the boy on the ground. He's protecting Sam, not us Jim, and don't be forgetting that. We've given him no reason to think we care if he lives or dies. If not for John and Sam, we wouldn't."

Jim shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what more I can do to convince him."

Bobby pierced Jim with a look. "Tell me you really care what happens to him. Not what happens to John's eldest boy, but what happens to that man out in the hall, the man who tried to kill you."

Blanching, Jim looked away from Bobby. He gave a slow nod. "Point taken," Jim said softly.

"Honesty's the best policy and all that crap. Jim, you're all torn up inside about him. You want to be the priest that feels sorry for him and forgives him, the hunter who wants to kill him, and the man that's just a little afraid of him but is trying to bluff his way through all the same. Be honest with yourself first. Then maybe try being honest with him like a man, not a priest. I ain't sorted out everything I'm feeling, but he'll protect Sam…assuming it's not all part of his mission. He's got a lot of knowledge that half the hunters in the world would damn near kill to get. I doubt he'll share anything he doesn't have to to keep Sam alive but I'm hopeful anyhow. Considering what he's done so far," Bobby gave an offhand wave to the walls, "don't know that it's rightly sunk into the boy that he can't go back to what he was. That he's got to survive in a world that he just don't understand and he will likely be hunted the rest of his days. I imagine he's a little bit scared by all that too. Lord knows I would be. He ain't never had no one to depend on but himself. I'd lay a good deal of money on the table he doesn't really understand what a friend is. I get the feeling with him it's all or nothing." He glanced at Sam with a bit of raised eyebrow.

Sam sat silently, listening to the older hunters exchange their thoughts. He had been pleased when Jim and Bobby seemed to be dealing well with Dean being free. Dean had more than made it clear to Sam his opinion of the two men. He wondered if Dean's distaste for his friends was further complicated by a bit of jealousy. Dean didn't want to share Sam anymore than Sam wanted to share Dean. And while Bobby didn't explicitly say it, Sam thought Bobby suspected Dean's loyalty to Sam was from his and his brother's growing relationship… and that just made Sam uncomfortable. The way he wanted Dean, needed Dean, sort of scared him too. What was going to happen when this was all over and they managed to walk out of it alive? If his dad found out Dean and he were banging each other, hitting the roof was the understatement of the century. That Bobby seemed semi-okay with it was odd enough. Then again, Bobby only suspected. He hoped

Sam winced as he remembered Dean touching his face just seconds ago, running his thumb over Sam's lips like a lover would, right in front of Bobby. Sam realized Bobby was probably trying really hard to ignore the situation. If he had to face it head on—and if Jim discovered it?—it just wasn't going to go well no matter what. Dean knew Sam didn't want the two men to know about their relationship and that probably wasn't helping the trust issue.

Pushing himself to his feet he told the hunters, "I need to go help him." He paused at the doorway, looking back in at them. "Thanks for trying to understand him. I'll try to get him to understand, too."

Sam hurried down the hall and found Dean setting up the ladder. He came up behind Dean, wrapping his arms around his brother's waist and kissing him on the neck. "Let me do these two. I know you can do it, but you've barely caught your breath from the others you did and you haven't had a chance to get any food into you. If we've got company coming, you need to be strong enough to fight them. You know I can't control my powers. And you need to cut Jim a break. He's trying. So's Bobby."  


* * *

  


Dean had found the ladder exactly where the priest had said it was and had already finished setting it up by the time he felt Sam come up behind him and wrap his arms around him. Sam’s embrace had always managed to calm him, no matter how much he was hurting physically or mentally, and now was no different. Especially when the arms wrapped around him, the lips gently brushing his neck, were warm and solid rather than the barely there ghostly touch they had always been before. Dean closed his eyes in contentment and leaned back into the younger man’s body.

He wondered if Sam had done it on purpose to distract him a little from hearing what he knew he wouldn’t like. Even though Sam’s offer to complete these last runes didn’t exactly sit well with him the other man, it was Sam’s next words that made him stiffen slightly in his brother’s arms. Gently scolding him for his behavior.

Dean huffed out a sigh before he straightened once more, though he didn’t pull away from Sam yet.

“I don’t want them to try.” He stated simply as he turned around in his brother’s arms, slipping his own arms around Sam’s waist and tugging the younger man a bit closer. “And I don’t want you to try this, not yet anyway. You’re right, you can’t control your powers, and until you can demon magic is the last thing you should be trying. If you lose control again it will exhaust me much more than this trying to fight you.”

Dean leaned forward and brushed his lips over his brother’s to sooth any sting his words might have caused. He was touched that Sam wanted to help him, but he couldn’t let the younger man do this. He honestly didn’t know if his brother had another episode like before if he’d even have the strength to stop him a second time.

“I’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Dean reassured as he pulled back and released his brother, not waiting for the younger man’s reply before he started climbing the ladder. Taking the knife out he’d been using before he reopened the cut in his hand enough to get his blood flowing again. Even as he did thinking again on how he wished he had his own. Dean glanced down at his brother briefly, he supposed now was as good a time as any to bring it up without having to worry about the two older hunters.

“Where are my things? My knives?”

* * *

Sam loved how Dean relaxed back into him anytime he wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. It made him feel so trusted, and for a man like Dean to trust him, that was beyond special. He felt his brother stiffen at his words, followed by a sigh and denial.

"You're not going back to that demon if I've got anything to say about it. In this world, in this life, friends are a good thing to have, whether you want them or not. I know you don't believe it, but Bobby and Jim and good men and trustworthy friends."

Sam was pleased when Dean turned to face him. He knew Dean was right about Sam's powers. It would be dangerous for him to try such a spell so he didn't argue. Sam welcomed the light kiss, sighing when Dean stepped away from him.

"I know you won't. And I won't let anything happen to you," Sam answered him, watching his brother climb the ladder and reopen his wounded palm. "Hey, jerk, get down here so I can add some of my blood to yours. Your stuff is in the other room. We didn't go to your hotel room or track down your car, though. Figured those might be under surveillance and we weren't really up for another fight at the time. And we ditched your cell phone."

Sam reopened his own wound and tugged on Dean's pants leg. When Dean leaned down he dribbled his blood into Dean's palm. He studied the ladder a moment and decided it wasn't up to handling the weight of both of them. So instead he stood and watched, his hand lightly resting on Dean's calf, hoping the physical contact would offer Dean additional strength. But he also stood ready to catch his brother if his brother wavered. Besides, the view of Dean up on the ladder was a really good angle as far as Sam was concerned.

* * *

Dean didn’t bother to hide the flash of annoyance that crossed his face and the roll of his eyes when Sam said he _needed_ “friends” whether he wanted them or not. Yeah, right, whatever. He had a feeling his brother knew his opinion on _that_ bit of bullshit pretty quickly. But he didn’t really want to argue the point with the younger man right now, so he remained silent. He kept his opinion regarding Sam’s previous words, about him returning to Azazel, much more hidden.

Sooner or later Azazel was going to find him. It wasn’t a question of “if” but “when” and there were only a few ways it was going to play out. Dean would do whatever was in his power that when Azazel finally did find him, he didn’t find Sam with him. He would do whatever he could to make sure that his father _never_ found Sam, or at least his brother would have the means to defend himself if the time came Azazel did find him. But his fate had already been sealed long ago, and nothing Sam did was going to change that.

His father would find him, and he would be punished. As a failure… as a traitor… The level of that punishment could vary by degrees but Dean had little doubt it would eventually end with his death. His soul would be sent to hell, and he would never know a moment without pain ever again. Almost more frightening to him however was the knowledge he would never see Sam again… which was one of the reasons he did not want to argue with Sam right now. He just wanted to have this time, no matter how brief it was, to be with him. Greedily clinging to whatever moments they had together like a starving dog eating whatever scraps were thrown to him.

Dean huffed out a small laugh when Sam tugged on his jeans and he leaned down to accept his brother’s blood in his palm before straightening on the ladder again. Pushing all other thoughts from his mind as he concentrated on the spell he began to mark on the ceiling, though his lips pulled into a small smile feeling the younger man’s hand on his leg.

He finished the spell and closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness that washed over him, gripping the ladder a little tighter for a moment. Sam was right, he definitely wasn’t fully recovered, but he would have some time to rest and regain his strength later. He could sense the demon getting closer, but its progress had definitely been slowed. Maybe it was more confused by the burst of power it had felt than Dean realized. Maybe it couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it had come from, either because of the holy ground or the protections Dean had already put up over the church, or any number of reasons. Whatever it was, it was good.

Though Dean did have to admit he was a bit surprised only one seeker was coming, if Sam was that important to his father he would have thought the demons would have been out in droves. Instead there had only been Dumah and one other demon who had attacked Sam, now this one, not even a very powerful demon by the feel of it, little more intelligence than a hellhound sniffing around for blood.

Maybe they just hadn’t taken into account that the hunters would remain roughly in the same area and not hightail it out of town like they _should_ have done. Underestimating, or more likely overestimating, their opponent, Dean supposed that reason was as good as any. It was better than considering the demons were holding back purposefully, for some reason. Dean didn’t know why they would, but whatever the reason it couldn’t be a good one.

Dean opened his eyes, shook his head slightly to clear it, and climbed carefully back down the ladder. Giving his brother a brief reassuring look before he knelt down on the ground, this was as good a place as any to place the final runes. By the time Dean was finished he was panting more than slightly and he felt sweat dripping down his back and over his brow. He had to close his eyes again and fight off another wave of dizziness.

“I’m done.” He panted softly, meaning both with the runes and anything else for that matter, pretty sure he wouldn’t be moving on his own power any time soon. 

* * *

Sam watched his brother waver a bit and tensed, ready to help his brother if needed. He breathed a little sigh of relief when Dean was back on terra firma. Dean's attempt at a reassuring look was weakened by his rapid breathing and the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Sam almost stopped him, but knew the runes were needed and it was the last set. When Dean knelt to mark the runes, Sam placed his hand on Dean's back, welcoming the power that wrapped them both in its tendrils.

When Dean finally finished, Sam caught him and pulled him back from collapsing on the newly drawn runes. Sam hated how exhausted he looked, how pale. He ran his hand along the side of Dean's face as he knelt beside his brother. He gave the man a light kiss.

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard but I know you're doing it for me, to protect me. You're right. You're done and now you need to eat and get some sleep."

Sam pulled his brother's arm up and over his shoulder.

"C'mon. Back to the work room. I refuse to sleep in the hall when there is a comfy air mattress in the other room just waiting for us."

With a grunt, Sam got Dean on his feet. Honestly, Sam was tired too, though he was certainly not as exhausted as his brother. Sam supported most of Dean's weight as they stumbled back toward the room.

With the ending of the demonic words reverberating in the hall, Jim stuck his head out the doorway and saw Sam laboring back with his load.

"Bobby, Sam needs help getting Dean back in here," Jim said.

While Bobby left to aid the brothers, Jim dumped out their untouched coffee. Both the young men needed sleep not caffeine and instead set up the orange juice boxes and some bottled water. Jim retrieved a few paper plates and quickly laid out some food for them, using what Sam had brought out before that they hadn't had a chance to eat before Dean huffed his way out of the room.

Bobby and Sam got Dean settled in a chair and Sam collapsed beside him. He gave a nod of thanks to Jim.

Sam nudged Dean to eat, while he himself partook of a few donuts and the orange juice. He felt better almost immediately as the sugar hit his system. He was too tired to think about eating the apple and settle on eating the cheese and rinsing it down with the water. After wiping his hands clean, he looked over at his brother who had mirrored his own choices in food, but looked like he was ready to fall asleep where he sat.

"Let's get some sleep while we can, Dean," Sam said softly, practically shaking Dean awake and he helped him back to the mattress. He wasn't entirely certain that Dean wasn't asleep before he even hit the mattress. Too tired to even care what Jim and Bobby might think, Sam settled behind Dean spooning up against him and pulling the blanket over them both. He threw an arm over Dean, nudged a little closer, and fell asleep almost instantly, welcoming the waiting arms of sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

  


  
_It was his birthday today. Or at least, that was what his father had said when he'd come to get him from his room where Dean had been locked since his last punishment._

_Three days he'd spent locked in his room with no food or water after being whipped until he lost consciousness, only to be woken and beaten again, all because he'd failed to perform his lesson to his father's satisfaction. He hadn't been beaten so badly for a while, and hadn't even wanted to eat he'd felt so sick and hurt so much those first couple of days. But now his stomach felt like it was eating itself and he could barely stand on his shaking legs they felt so weak. Every time he swallowed it hurt because his throat was so dry._

_When he'd been nudged awake by his father's boot he'd been afraid at first his father was going to beat him again. It wouldn't have been the first time. If his father was still displeased with him… instead his father had told him to get up and come along. It was his birthday and his father had a present for him._

_Dean hadn't understood what it meant. He'd never had a birthday, or a present, before. Not in the last seven years or so, and he couldn't remember before that. But the last thing he was going to do was argue with or question his father and Dean had scrambled up as quickly as his bruised body would allow and followed after Azazel._

_His father had led him to a room which Dean knew well and it became even harder to stand as his legs began to shake with fear instead of weakness. It was the torture room. It was where he was sent when he had displeased his father in some way. He wanted to fall to his knees in tears and beg his father not to beat him again, promise him he would not fail his father again, but he knew if he did that it would only anger his father more. Azazel hated weakness as much as he hated failure._

_But to Dean's surprise, the torture room was not empty when they entered. There was a man there, on his knees, a chain running from his neck to the floor. His arms and legs bound, and he looked as though he'd already went a few rounds with the torturers already. The man looked at his father with pure hatred, though Dean could see confusion in the man's eyes when they turned to Dean. Dean didn't know what to do, so he simply stood there waiting._

_"Are you going to tell me what I want to know hunter?" Azazel asked, and Dean could see a knife in his father's hand, already stained with blood. A hunter… Dean had never actually seen a hunter before. He looked like an ordinary man, especially bloodied and beaten as he was, not nearly as dangerous as his father had said they could be. The man stubbornly remained silent, continued glaring at Azazel with that defiant look, though his eyes flickered to him every once and a while and Dean winced, not really wanting to see what his father had planned for the man._

_Dean was surprised when Azazel suddenly reached out and grabbed him by the hair, the sudden unexpected pain as he was yanked forward making him stumble and cry out before he could stop himself. His father shoved him in front of the man so he could see him fully, forced him to his knees in front of the hunter, and yanked his head back. Dean felt the cold edge of the blade against his throat and he froze, his eyes growing wide with fear._

_"Tell me what I want to know." His father said digging the blade just a little into the soft flesh of his neck and Dean hissed at the sting of the cut, the feeling of his blood trailing down his neck and chest. He felt the tears of pain and confusion he'd been holding back spill free, to his shame, and his shaking increased. His father wasn't really going to kill him was he? Had he really displeased his father so badly?_

_"Please…" Dean whimpered, but the sharp yank on his hair silenced him abruptly._

_"Stop! I only know the last place he was seen was Montana. I swear! Don't!" The hunter blurted out abruptly much to Dean's surprise and his father let go of him, and took the blade away from his throat. Dean wasn't sure which of them looked more relieved right then, him or the hunter._

_"Thank you." Azazel said, amusement clear in his voice, then he held out the knife to Dean. "Dean, kill him."_

_Dean looked up at his father in surprise. His father had never told him to kill anyone before. But there was a cold steel behind his father's eyes and Dean knew better than to disobey. He reached out to take the knife, looking back at the hunter who looked shocked at first and then angry. Glaring at him in pure hate._

_Dean closed his eyes as he plunged the knife into the man's chest, his father laughing behind him._

***

Dean jerked awake from the dream, the memory, of his first kill. A small shiver running down his spine as he remembered how Azazel had used him then, and many times after as well, in such a manner when he was a boy. As an object of pity. Sometimes the demon would actually torture him in front of the prisoners if they refused to talk. Dean always playing the part to the fullest. Crying, screaming, begging… eventually they would break. They all broke. It was just another game his father enjoyed playing.

He didn't know why he was remembering it now. Dean shook his head a little to clear it and pushed himself up on his arm. He couldn't even remember falling asleep and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Dean glanced over his shoulder at the young man spooned up behind him, Sam's arm wrapped around his middle a comforting weight. A small smile curved his lips even though it was still a little odd waking like this.

Dean knew he should probably get up, check the defenses of the church one last time. He could feel the darkness, closer than ever now. It wouldn't be long now, in fact, that was probably what had awoken him in the first place.

Dean sighed regrettably as he turned in the younger man's embrace, reaching out to caress Sam's face. He didn't like how exhausted he still felt from casting all of those spells, but he couldn't really do much about that right now. The demon wasn't going to wait for him to recover fully.

"Sam. Wake up. It's almost here, we need to get ready."

* * *

It was a solid, deep dreamless sleep that embraced Sam. At the fringes were screams and smells of sulfur and glimpses of dead loved ones, but a warm darkness held him, cradled him, protected him and kept the horrors from slithering their way in. He honestly hadn't slept so very well in so very long that the touch to his face was like that of a butterfly that he wanted to brush away, the words a soft lullaby, the voice that of his lover. He wanted to beg a few more minutes. He wanted to stay hidden in the safety of the cocoon, but somewhere inside him the meaning of the words was recognized and nudged him closer to consciousness. Blindly he reached out, his fingers finding his lover's face, drifting over them lightly, running across those tender lips. He cracked his eyes open and saw Dean facing him, embraced against him, and he slid his hand behind Dean's head, twining his fingers in that short hair, and drew Dean to him, parting his lips, teasing Dean's tongue into his mouth.

Yes the meaning of the words finally soaked through to his consciousness. And they would get ready, just as soon as he was done kissing Dean so thoroughly his taste would stay with Dean until whatever was to come was over. He forced himself not to get aroused and focused purely on Dean's mouth. They didn't have time for a morning or evening or whatever the hell time it was quickie. Well, maybe they did, but until Dean said they did, he would assume they didn't. He moaned into his brother's mouth and pulled him so close nothing was between them but the cloth of their clothes. He finally rolled Dean over so he was on top.

When he broke the kiss and pushed himself partway up, he grinned at his brother. "Who says I'm not ready?"

He reached between them and groped his brother before pushing himself all the way off of him, sitting and running his hand through his hair and brushing the locks out of his face. He blinked as his gaze swept the room sleepily. His breath caught when he realized they were in Bobby's workroom on the mattress.

They were alone. Thank God, they were alone. He didn't care if Bobby suspected, he just really didn't want to actually confirm it for the hunter. Bobby might be accepting of it if he only suspected it, but in full Technicolor? That would be like Sam walking in on his father and Bobby or Pastor Jim getting it on. That would just be deeply… bothersome.

He breathed a sigh of relief, the momentary panic releasing him. He returned his gaze to his brother and saw the weariness in Dean's eyes. "Let me get you some breakfast and then I'll let Bobby and Jim know we've got company coming."

Sam pushed himself to his feet and headed over to the coffee pot. It was half full and didn't smell like it had been cooking for hours. He poured each of them a cup of coffee and he handed Dean a Styrofoam cup filled with the steaming liquid. He put some more donuts out on a plate, grabbed a clean knife from the table and quickly quartered one of the apples, and put together a fresh ham sandwich with cheese. Almost as an afterthought he grabbed another juicebox out and he handed everything to Dean. Moving to a different table he gathered Dean's things that they had taken from him and he took them over to Dean, setting them on the mattress beside his brother. He smiled fondly at Dean, grabbed his coffee, and headed out of the room in search of Bobby and Jim.

"Bobby? Jim?" Sam called out. "Dean says we've got company coming and need to get ready."

Bobby stepped out of a room beside the door. Sam realized it was going on evening, but the sun had maybe another hour before it would set.

"Nothing out there yet," Bobby said, holding his shotgun loosely in one hand. A half full cup of coffee sat on the windowsill, an occasional twirl of steam curling lazily from it. "If he's got a plan, we need to have a pow-wow. I'll get Jim up."

"How long did we sleep?"

"Been about four and a half hours or so."

Sam knew now wasn't the time to ask, but he needed to know. "Was Jim, uhm, bothered by the sleeping arrangements?" he asked a slight flush coming to his face.

Bobby shrugged and looked out the window. "Let's concentrate on what's happening out there, not in here, Sammy."

"I thought…"Sam began hesitantly.

"Right now, we need to stand together. Let's worry about anything else later. Let it drop and don't be bringing it up to Jim neither. We got bigger things to worry about."

Sam gave a nod and returned to the workroom. Bobby wasn't as good with it as he thought maybe. Or Jim wasn't pleased and Bobby had to listen to Jim rant on about it. Incest was a sin, could damn him to Hell. But sometimes, sometimes God had sanctioned it in time of dire need. He wondered if this fell into that category and figured probably not. Setting his jaw, he realized it didn't matter. Not right now. Dean and he needed each other and he wasn't giving that up. He would live in the moment. That's all hunters ever seemed to have anyhow. It would end bloody, anyhow. It always ended bloody.

Sam began putting together his own breakfast, or rather, he supposed, dinner. "Jim and Bobby want to know if you have a plan. They'll be in in a minute," he told Dean.

 

* * *

Dean’s smile widened when the first thing Sam did upon waking, maybe even before he was fully awake, was to reach out for him. Touching his face, his lips, so tenderly before drawing him down and the elder man couldn’t help but go willingly. Those sleepy, lust filled eyes pulling him in, chaining him more securely than any physical bonds ever could. His lips meeting Sam’s with a soft moan as his tongue eagerly slipped into the younger man’s mouth. Trading deep thorough kisses that made fire scorch through his veins and heat pool in his stomach. His cock swelling with interest despite knowing they didn’t really have time for this, as enjoyable as it was. But pushing Sam away, or pulling away himself to end their kiss was the last thing on Dean’s mind at the moment.

When Sam finally pushed him over, his weight settling comfortably on top of him for a moment, Dean groaned in approval. His hands slipping through Sam’s warm sleep tousled hair and down over the younger man’s shoulders. His groan taking on an edge of complaint when his brother finally broke their kiss and pushed himself away.

_Fucking tease._ Was the first thing that came to Dean’s mind but he couldn’t help but laugh softly anyway. Laying quite comfortably where he was watching every one of the younger man’s movements intently. Simply mesmerized by the simplest thing, the way Sam’s hair slipped through his fingers, the way the light caught his eyelashes when he blinked, so damned beautiful… and all his.

Dean nodded when Sam offered to get him some “breakfast”, pushing himself up into a more sitting position. Gratefully taking the cup of coffee Sam offered him, though he raised an eyebrow at all the food that his brother returned with. Surely he didn’t expect him to eat ALL of this. He wasn’t starving after all…

When Sam returned again with his knives and other belongings, Dean gave the younger man a grateful smile before his brother left the room. Grateful for Sam’s trust in him, even though he wasn’t the least bit sure he deserved it. He’d told Sam before that the younger man couldn’t trust him. Dean was afraid that was still true. He didn’t trust himself, how could Sam trust him? But the younger man did, much to his amazement, and if there was one thing Dean did know it was he needed Sam, more than he needed anything else in his life, and he had been telling the truth when he promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to Sam.

His knives would help him keep that promise. He was glad the hunters hadn’t simply thrown them away, they were worth more to him than mere “sentimental” value. He had killed many demons with these knives. Some simply jealous of the position he held at his father’s side, some weaklings or traitors his father wanted dead, others Azazel’s enemies. He had nearly as much experience killing demons as he had killing humans. He would have rather not let the hunters know everything these weapons were capable of but he probably wouldn’t have a choice in that.

Dean ate his meal while he waited for Sam to return, a little surprised just how hungry he found he actually was and feeling a good deal better after having eaten something. He watched the younger man preparing his own meal when Sam returned, nodding in answer to his brother’s question. Yes, he did have something of a plan. He waited until the two hunters arrived so he wouldn’t have to repeat himself.

“First of all, we need to get it inside the church. It will be too easy for it to escape outdoors, but once its inside it will be trapped. The devil’s trap at the door will need to be broken, and someone will have to bait it.”

 

* * *

Bobby and Jim walked into the workroom together. Jim's eyes drifted to the mattress where he had seen the boys lying together in sleep. He had placed a silly bet with Bobby earlier, pulling his chain as it were. Dean had been trying to get a rise out of him as Sam had been wiping Dean down when Dean had the fever. Admittedly, Sam had been doing it a little more slowly than necessary, but there was no doubt the man was getting off on it.

Jim jokingly made a bet with Bobby that Dean was going to try to seduce Sam and before anyone realized, Sam and Dean would be humping like bunnies. It was a tasteless joke and equally tasteless bet, but Jim had been tired and frustrated by the cocky little bastard at the time. Besides, the look on Bobby's face had been worth every last word of it. Jim didn't find it at all funny when he saw Sam pressed up close to Dean on the mattress, his arm wrapped around Dean like they were lovers. Why was it one minute he wanted to give the Dean a chance at proving himself, then the next, he wanted to kill the little bastard?

Jim had raged to Bobby about it, that they should put a stop to such nonsense, but Bobby told Jim firmly to let it be. No matter what was happening, if it was innocent friendship or incestuous lust, they needed Dean working on their side. Working to protect Sam. If Dean didn't help, Sam was dead or worse. After Sam was safe, then whatever the relationship, innocent or not, they could confront Sam and make sure it was just innocent. The boys were definitely stronger together and that's all there was to it. Bobby didn't want to know and told Jim it was best if neither of them did. For that matter, they still couldn't be certain, truly certain, that Dean was indeed Sam's brother.

 

When Bobby saw Dean had reacquired his belongings, his face swept into a scowl. Those knives Dean carried were magical. He didn't know what they did, but there was some very powerful magic wrapped around them. Sam surely returned them to Dean and Bobby had to wonder if indeed Dean had put Sam under some sort of spell. Sam trusted Dean at a scary level. Though Bobby himself said he trusted Dean at Sam's back, a small nigglingpart of him still worried for the young Winchester.

As nothing could be done for the moment, he settled across the table from Dean and Sam, Jim sitting down beside him.

At Dean's words soft laughter broke from Jim.

"I'm the perfect bait," Jim said. "What demon will turn down the chance to nail a priest, one that is apparently nothing more than a foolish man spouting off scripture and the wrath of God sort of business. Especially one already injured. We can cover the trap with a rug, sweep aside the salt and break the trap until it is inside. After we get inside, then what? Keep it locked up here?"

 

* * *

Dean’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed Jim’s glance towards the mattress or Bobby’s glance towards his knives and the equally displeased frowns on both the hunters faces. Well tough on both accounts. He didn’t give a damn what the two men thought about him and Sam and he cared even less what they thought of him being armed. He wasn’t going to be giving up his knives again anytime soon, and he certainly wasn’t giving up his brother. Just let the hunters try and take them, or Sam away from him.

Remembering Sam’s “lecture” earlier however, more to avoid hearing it again than anything else, Dean kept his expression and his tone equally neutral. He also made sure to keep his hand away from his weapon, just in case the two men thought he might use them. Which he certainly would, if he needed to, but best not to push the “truce” between them in any case.

Dean nodded in agreement when the priest suggested he be used as bait. He was the most logical choice for it, certainly neither he or Sam could be because once the demon saw either of them it would probably take off for reinforcements and that was precisely what Dean wanted to avoid. Plus the man was already injured, like he said, he’d be pretty useless for anything else. Even Bobby would be more useful with two good hands rather than one.

Dean had to resist rolling his eyes when Jim asked what they were going to do with the demon once they had it trapped inside the church.

“Hardly. Once you get it inside the church, we’re going to pin it down and kill it. But I want to know what it knows first, if anything. If nothing else, your little magic juice should convince it to talk.” Dean replied, glancing at Bobby. 

* * *

Jim gave Dean something of a dirty look. "I assumed we weren't planning on having a tea party."

Sam had to stifle his snort of laughter at Jim's retort.

Jim continued. "Once it's inside, are we going to have a second devil's trap that I need to try to get it into? You may have abilities to hold it, but the rest of us are useless in that regard. Demons are strong, even if we tackle it, we likely won't be able to hold it down long."

"I can have a needle ready," Bobby said, "or better maybe, set up a couple tranqs filled with the liquid for Jim to use on it, but I don't know how much to use. Would what I used on you be enough to get it to talk? Will too much of it kill it? Since you said we are killing it, I'm guessing that's what those special knives of yours do." Bobby glanced at Sam. "Unless you need them both, I think you ought to give one to Sam, just in case."

"You're the better knife fighter," Sam protested.

"Idgit, it's your life we're trying to protect. A knife in my hand won't do a helluva lot good with me pinned to the wall."

Reluctantly, Sam nodded in agreement. Bobby's words were sensible.

"I assume there is no way to save the body the demon has possession of," Jim said with a sigh. He saw the look on Dean's face and something twisted inside of him. He turned his full glare on Dean. "Life is sacred. If an innocent can be saved, we should try. But I am no fool, young man. I, too, am capable of doing what it takes to get the job done. Don't think I'm not.

"I can practically taste your disdain for Bobby and I." Jim stalked closer. "I know you are dangerous, I know full well what you are capable of, and I know full well you have not attempted to kill Bobby or me because of Sam. We have placed our trust in you to protect Sam. If we didn't have that faith in you, don't think we couldn't take you down a second time. I imagine you have killed numerous hunters, but we know what you are—"

Sam started to step forward to intervene, but Jim held up a hand to Sam without looking away from Dean.

Jim continued. "The only use you have for us is bait, manpower, and Bobby's skills in magic. We realize that. But this is not the world you come from. We do not operate the same here. I do not wonder if Bobby will knife me in the back to gain power or leverage. I know he will stand by me to the bitter end. I know that if I am beyond saving, he will end my life rather than see me suffer. Our world is one of trust, one where that trust and dedication can indeed be a detriment, as it was when Sam walked into your trap in order to save his father. I have little delusion that you would give your life for any one of us except perhaps Sam. I would ask you to consider rejoining the human race, for as weak as we are, for the cattle the demons judge us to be, those of us who are aware of the true evils of the world, we will stand strong against them, even if it means our deaths. It is the human in you that loves your brother. I hope the human in you can claw its way past the brainwashing of your "father" and recognize the worth of the part of you yet human. For Sam's sake, I hope you find your humanity. Regardless, in the meantime do not treat us as incompetent fools or lesser than you because demon blood does not run in our veins."

* * *

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly at Jim’s “tea party” remark, he didn’t like being mocked, and Sam’s laughter didn’t exactly help matters any either. He liked it even less when the priest ranted on as though Dean hadn’t already thought of how he might try to contain the demon. If he’d had any doubts his abilities alone wouldn’t be able to contain it, even if he was still weakened a bit, he would have said so. He wouldn’t risk Sam’s life like that.

Before he could say anything in reply however, Bobby spoke up suggesting a means of delivery for his magic serum. A few tranquilizer darts filled with it should probably work quite well, actually. As to the amount to be used, there was no way for Dean to know that. He knew of only a few ways to kill, really kill, a demon. But he had demon blood in his veins and the way that it had reacted to him… it was quite possible that enough of it would not only cause a demon excruciating pain but would also kill it.

Actually, Dean had already considered giving one of his knives to Sam, but to be honest he would have rather Sam remain in the basement or somewhere and not even be involved in the fight. So that even if the unthinkable happened, and the demon did get away from them somehow it would have at least only seen Dean and not Sam. Keeping Sam hidden was just as important to keeping Sam safe.

Again before he could answer, Jim interrupted him, asking about saving the life of the possessed “innocent” and then went on to actually berate him about the “sanctity” of life Dean had just about had enough. Dean’s eyes darkened. It was the only warning he gave the priest and when it was not heeded the young man snapped. The temperature of the room grew noticeably cooler as Dean stood up in a rush and lashed out, not with his hands, but with enough power to send the man slamming back into the wall. Dean was on him in a second, faster than anyone could blink, a hand around his throat choking and one of his knives were pressed to the soft skin just underneath the man’s chin.

“You know I am dangerous? You think you know what I am capable of? No. I don’t think you do. Maybe you need a reminder.” Dean hissed, pressing the knife forward just enough to nick the priest’s skin. Feeling Sam and Bobby move to help the other man, Dean threw up a barrier between them, keeping both men back.

“Don’t you dare think you can preach to me, old man. I am not a missing member of the flock. Don’t talk to me about trust, dedication, and humanity. You humans know more about betrayal than any demon. Where do you think Demons learned it from? Murder. Rape. Genocide. War. Your race treats each other no better than we treat you, we just have bigger plans than your pathetic squabbles. You are not cattle. You are insects. You are nothing to me. Don’t forget that or next time I’ll squash you.” He growled, before finally releasing the other man and tossing him to the ground.

* * *

Jim was startled as the power lifted him and threw him hard into the wall. The blow reverberated through his wounded shoulder and he cried out in pain, suspecting the wound had been broken open by the brutal treatment. Before Jim could do anything more, Dean had him by the throat and held a knife against it threateningly. He felt the blade pressed hard enough to draw blood as Dean ranted. Peripherally he saw Bobby and Sam try to get to them but they were held back.

_You humans. We demons._ Dean considered himself still in the demon army, still part of the demon master's plans. Humans were insects. Nothing more.

Jim collapsed to the ground when Dean released him. God he hurt, but he had to finish what he started. He needed the truth. He reached up to his shoulder and slid his fingers under the bandage. He cringed but coated his fingers with the blood, then flicked some of that blood to the ground and pushed himself to his feet. If he kept this up, God really was going to turn His back on Jim, but Jim had to know, had to be certain. He shrugged off the concerned hands of his friends and whispered barely audible words. The blood on the ground hissed and burbled, and he targeted the demonic spell into Dean's backside, returning Dean the favor of being slammed into a wall, only Dean was slammed face first into it. The spell wouldn't hold long, but Jim suspected they didn't have long anyhow. Besides, this might very well cost him his life. But to save Sam, he would forfeit his life.

He swept up a knife from the table and was at Dean's back, the tip pressed hard into the skin. Enough pressure and it would be a deadly wound.

"Yes, 'us humans' are very good at deception and betrayal. And 'you demons' learned it very well from us. Since 'you demons' have bigger plans for us, where does that put Sam since you obviously still classify yourself demon." Jim leaned in and whispered his next words. "Are you fucking Sam? Sleeping with a demon will condemn Sam to Hell. So when Sam dies, his soul will be down there right beside your own. If you are a demon and not human. Is that your plan for Sam? Or do you intend to wait until you 'father' shows up and hand Sam over then? Choose your god-damned side, Winchester. Us. The insect humans, the side Sam is on. Or them. The mighty superior demons and the demonic bastard who took you from Sam, who took you from your family, who sent you after Sam, who probably wanted you dead so Sam could be his and his alone. So he could treat your Sam the same way he has treated you. I imagine he'll enjoy fucking Sam as much as you have or as much as you dream of doing. I'm sure his training will be as kind and gentle as yours was. And yes, I know this is probably going to cost me my life. I know the spell is almost over and then you will be able to strike me down, but it will be worth it if it proves which side you stand on, if it protects Sam if the side you stand on isn't his."

Jim turned and walked away from Dean, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of Sam and Bobby. Bobby had heard tales of Jim before he took up the good book, but he never had put much faith in them. Until now.

Jim shut his eyes and tossed the knife onto the table, keeping his back to Dean. Silently he begged God's forgiveness for using demonic magic and for all his sins. He did this for Sam, to show Sam and Bobby what he hoped would be the truth. Dean could still betray Sam, no matter what the outcome of this was, but he hoped he had pushed Dean far enough that Dean would slip if indeed he was a traitor to his brother. Demons weren't known for keeping their temper, and even if Dean wasn't _actually_ a demon, that was still the world he grew up in and obviously what he considered himself.

 

* * *

The last thing Dean had expected was to be slammed so hard into the wall that he saw stars and his skin split, blood beginning to trickle down his face from his forehead. At first he thought that Sam had somehow done it, in retaliation for having attacked one of his “friends” but Dean quickly realized it was the _priest_ who had somehow used demonic magic against him. He didn’t know how it was possible, but how seemed a moot point at the moment when he was pinned pretty much helpless as the human had been moments ago, with a knife digging into his back.

Jim’s words hissed into his ear making his blood boil with rage, and at the same time made his stomach twist so violently with fear he thought he might be sick. Not fear for himself, but fear for Sam. As the priest whispered to him all the very same fears that had been torturing him since he realized who Sam was, what Sam meant to him, and what Sam meant to his father. Realizing his father’s plans for the younger man, the boy who had been the only one to ever show him the slightest bit of kindness and love. What Sam might suffer if Azazel ever got his hands on the younger man the reason he’d even considered defying the demon even knowing the fate that would await him once he was found, once Azazel discovered what he’d done... How he tried to keep Sam away from him...

For a heartbeat, when the priest was finally finished, when the knife in his back was removed and he felt the power holding him prisoner faded, Dean remained frozen where he was... but when he finally turned around slowly there was black murder in his eyes. All directed to the hunter that dared to humiliate him, dared to threaten him, dared to treat him like some insufferable pup that needed to be whipped into submission.

The only reason he wasn’t already ripping the other man apart, quite literally, piece by piece right now was standing in front of him. Sam. The knowledge tickling at the back of his brain that the younger man would never forgive him if he killed the hunter. At the same time he knew with all his heart if he ever looked at the other man’s face again he would rip it off. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself, even if he wanted to, not even for Sam.

Dean did the only thing he possibly could, he turned and ran. 

* * *

Sam watched and listened as he saw the building argument between Pastor Jim and his brother. He listened as Jim briefly lamented that they would likely not be able to save the possessed innocent, then saw the flash of anger in Jim's face at Dean's silent but obvious disdain. Jim stood his ground and spouted biting words about loyalty, about Dean needing to find his humanity. When his brother retaliated by tossing Jim across the room, by holding a knife to Jim's throat, Sam and Bobby both scrambled to their feet and tried to reach them to intervene and get tempers to calm down. Sam tried to push through the wall Dean erected against him and Bobby, but before he had much of a chance, it was over.

He didn't like what he heard coming from Dean. He understood Dean couldn't consider himself human, he understood Dean felt he could trust no one. He had seen, had experienced, what his brother had endured. That his brother had even come as far as he had, willing to help them, willing to protect Sam, was practically a miracle. Yes, Dean loved Sam deeply and that was the only reason Dean had turned his back on the one he was enslaved to. He thought of himself as a demon and why shouldn't he? Demon blood was in his veins and the demon bastard had reared him and trained him and used him. Had taught him to fight as a demon, given him demonic powers. Sam hadn't nearly had the time to convince Dean he wasn't demon. If he was, then so was Sam because the same demon blood ran inside him.

As Dean stalked away from the fallen priest, Sam and Bobby dashed to Jim's side. Sam breathed a sigh of relief that his brother hadn't killed Jim because for a moment he wasn't sure Dean wouldn't. Jim winced and dug at his bandaged shoulder and Sam cringed, knowing that Dean had done that. How was he ever going to get the two of them to stop baiting each other?

He and Bobby offered to aid Jim to his feet, but Jim brushed them off, fury in his eyes the likes of which Sam had never seen. Jim extracted a blood-coated hand and spattered it before him whispering words that Sam could feel were demonic. He stared, mouth agape, as Dean was flung into the far wall and Jim went up to his brother, knife in hand, and now he feared as much for Dean's life as he had only moments before for Jim's.

He started to move forward, he had to put an end to this but Bobby grabbed his arm.

"Have faith, Son. You know Jim won't kill him. He's John's boy, your brother."

He heard Jim's words demanding where Sam was placed in Dean's corner of the universe, but then Jim leaned in and any other words were to soft to be made out by Sam or Bobby. When Jim walked away, when Dean was released from Jim's spell, he saw, he felt the rage in his brother. He moved to get between Jim and Dean when after a moment, instead of killing Sam's friend, Dean sprinted out the door.

Sam hesitated only a breath before running after his brother. Dean couldn't leave him! Whatever Jim said to him, it didn't matter. Sam wasn't going to give Dean up.

"Dean!" Sam begged, calling after his brother, frightened Jim had irrevocably destroyed any chance Sam had at saving Dean from himself.

 

Bobby approached Jim after the brothers ran from the room, the look on Sam's face nearly breaking his heart.

"What the hell were you thinking Jim! We need that boy to protect Sam!"

Jim looked up with tired eyes as he sank into the closest chair. He hurt, he felt dirty, and he really was surprised he was still alive. He had pushed every button he knew, he had revealed things to Bobby and Sam he swore he would never reveal to anyone, though they probably didn't know enough to fully understand the ramifications. For Bobby, that situation would soon be remedied.

"I have the same fears as you, Bobby. I fear that when the demon that practically owns Dean's soul finally arrives, that Dean will crumble and stand with the demon rather than with Sam." His eyes flicked to the mattress where the boys had lain together, thought back to Sam's actions, to Dean's actions. There could be little doubt. "They are lovers, Bobby. We both know it. Sam isn't very good at lying to us, we know him too well. That's more than brotherly love for each other that they are showing. That Dean didn't kill me only proves that. He knew he would lose Sam if he did.

Jim looked up at the old mechanic. "Dean has to find his humanity. He has to. That is the only thing that will save them both. Otherwise, even if he protects Sam, he will return with his demon master and take the punishment the demon will surely mete out, punishment which will ultimately end in his death and Dean will end up in Hell, forever lost. When Dean goes with his master, his 'father', Sam will follow. Sam will do whatever it takes to try to save Dean, and he will draw upon every ounce of power the demon blood has given him and he too will be lost, whether he wins or loses."

"So trying to get Dean to kill you will save Dean?" Bobby demanded. If that wasn't circular reason then what the hell was?

"No. It was to see if Dean could separate himself in his mind from the demon he serves, it was to make him voice what he thinks of humans, of what he fears to be. It was to make Sam realize what Dean thinks and what he must do to save Dean, if Dean can even be saved at this point. I told Sam only love could save Dean." With another glance at the mattress, Jim sighed, "Though I didn't mean for him to take it quite so literally. Incest may get him thrown into hell as readily as anything else he is facing right now, but that is another bridge to be crossed further down the road if any of us survive this anyhow. And before you ask, no I do not approve and would like to rip Sam a new one for being such an idiotic fool. The situation is much more complex than the simple fact they are having sex with one another. Dean knows no better and Sam is too lost in his own pain to see the wrongness of it. So much more is at stake that I will reserve the brimstone and hellfire lecture for Sam at a later date. We've more immediate brimstone and hellfire to deal with."

Bobby sank into a chair beside Jim. "Don't you think you could have waited 'til after this demon showed up 'fore grabbing hold of the tiger's tail?"

Jim pulled the sling over his head, grimacing. His shoulder needed rebandaged at this point. "I had intended to, Bobby, I really had. I let my anger get the best of me. He seems to manage to do that where I am concerned."

"I think it's a Winchester thing," Bobby snorted, moving to help Jim, thinking back to all the times he threatened John with a butt full of buckshot. "Uh, Jim, I know humans can use demon magic like setting protective runes, conjuring, things like that, but what you did, that was a different brand of dark magic, or am I a whole lot more stupid about demon magic than I thought?"

Jim squeezed his eyes shut with a sigh. "No. You are correct in essence, wrong in technicality. There is demonic magic," he waved his hand at the protective runes, "and then there is demon magic, which is what I did. Though the particular spells Dean wove when writing these runes were demon magic."

"And the difference is…?" Bobby asked slowly, fearing he knew the difference and not liking the implication.

The story he had never wanted to reveal. Every hunter had their own reason for becoming a hunter. Every hunter that survived past the first few years had their own share of foolish, nearly got themselves tales. Hunters weren't prone to sharing a lot. If they knew something that might help another hunter, they would offer advice, but how they came by that knowledge was often left in the shadows. Jim had never wanted to tell this tale, but he knew he needed to. Bobby needed to know so he could explain it to Sam. At this point, Jim very much doubted he and Sam would be holding meaningful conversations for a longtime to come. No one held a grudge like a Winchester.

Jim's word came slowly, softly. "My brother was taken and killed by a black dog. That is what got me into hunting, but you know that. He was my only remaining family, and I was sixteen. I was young and stupid and fearless. I survived on guts and balls and sheer damned luck.

"Strange things were happening in a backwater town in Washington. I couldn't really figure out what it might be, but I knew it was supernatural. At the time I didn't know anything about demon possession. Hell, Bobby, I didn't even really believe in demons and angels and I don't know, maybe not even God. After all the evil I saw, I didn't see how there could even be a God." He pulled off the bloody bandages while Bobby got some fresh ones set up. Although the wound had been broken open, it was healing well inside and the damage was mostly to the upper layers of the skin at this point.  
  
"I went after what I soon discovered was a demon and I was no where near prepared or even approached being knowledgeable about demons. This demon, Marta, was waiting on orders from a higher demon though I never did really find out what those orders were. To my shame, it caught me easily. Demons like tormenting hunters as much as priests. It was bored so it decided to keep me alive for awhile. I learned a lot about demons in those months it held me.

"Months?" Bobby gasped.

"Yes. I'm not really sure how long. I know it was less than a year but that's all I'm really certain of. Marta told me demons were once human, souls tortured until nothing was left of them but blind anger. It decided it was curious, it wanted to know if a human that was still alive could be turned into a demon.

"It fed me blood. It tortured me. It raped me. It possessed me. It made me watch it do horrible things, made me chose between tortures done to others or gave me the option of taking their places. Gave me the option of killing them or watching them die as it tortured them to death slowly. I did things, Bobby, things I'm not proud of. I was nineteen and scared out of my mind. Within probably a month or two, I was its dog. I did what Marta ordered because I was too frightened to do otherwise. It taught me demon magic which the demon blood allowed me to cast, but I never developed any abilities, not like Sam and Dean."

Jim paused, the look in his eyes distant and sad. "Another hunter came along, one who knew what he was facing and what he was doing." Jim gave Bobby a brief smile. "I fought for my master. I fought with everything I had to protect Marta. The hunter was more than a little surprised to discover I wasn't possessed. He exorcised my demonic master and freed me."

"I think I understand something of what is going through Dean's head. I have tried different tactics to reach him. As with me, I don't think anything will reach him until his demon master is gone, but I had hoped that might not be the case. I certainly did not believe anything could vanquish Marta just as I am sure Dean thinks the same of his 'father.'

"I didn't tell the hunter that saved me about the books Marta had." He pointed toward the still unopened box that held them. "I went back later and got them. I had the hunter teach me the exorcisms and the devils traps and then I went on a rampage. I killed anything that I could. Hostages didn't mean a thing as far as I was concerned. So long as the evil was destroyed, I didn't care who got hurt along the way."

"I've heard things about you," Bobby said with a slow nod of his head. "Things I found hard to believe."

With a wan smile, Jim gave a slight nod. "Thank you for your confidence, but I would not be surprised if everything you heard was true. I was brutal. I was capable of exactly the same things you have seen Dean do. I don't know that I could do those…yes, yes I could do those things if absolutely necessary, but I would not take the joy in it I once did.

"In those two books are spells capable of many things. If Dean is not familiar with those spells, they would be powerful weapons for him. Those two spells I said I had never sorted out, that was a lie. I know exactly what they do. They are basically kamikaze spells. One will kill any demon within about twenty five miles and if the caster is demon, it will be killed as well. I suspect some of the higher demons would be injured but not killed. The other is the most frightening one. Just as I could conjure a demon…original demons are fallen angels…this spell conjures an angel. Angels would not permit any demon to live, so again, the demonic caster will perish."

"Conjure an angel?" Bobby gaped.

Jim laughed softly. "I have never had the guts to try. I imagine any angel conjured is going to be pissed off to begin with, especially considering demon magic forced it to come and show itself.

"And now you're a priest."

"Pastor," Jim corrected patiently. He had explained the differences between the various religious titles, but time and again they called him priest. He rarely bothered to correct them anymore. "Yes. One night I dreamed about my brother. He came to me, he spoke to me and told me he was disappointed in me, told me I was going to go to Hell if I didn't 'find my humanity' again. With the demon blood in me, I figured it was a given I was going to Hell so why should I care? But my brother said I could be redeemed, demonic blood or not. When I woke up, I found a bible was on the bed stand beside me in the hotel. I don't remember it being there when I went to bed that night but I suppose it was." Jim paused, recalling that dream as if it was yesterday. "My brother meant everything to me. Dream or not, I knew he would be horrified by the things I had been doing. Not knowing what else to do, I finally turned to God for answers. I didn't plan on becoming a pastor. It just sort of happened."

He looked down, realizing Bobby had already finished dressing his injury. He carefully slid the sling back in place and took the aspirin Bobby offered him. "Thank you Bobby. Dean believes he is a demon and now believes making love to Sam will condemn Sam. It is now up to Sam to convince Dean he is not a demon and that they can still be together without risking Sam's soul. If he can do that, then maybe, just maybe, Dean will fight against the demon, fight against going with it when it comes to collect him."

"Any one ever tell you you can be a real bastard?" Bobby asked. He prayed Jim had not broken the relationship the boys were building no matter how wrong that relationship was. If Dean rose against them, they were all dead.

"More people than I can count," Jim admitted ruefully, "but not for many years. We need to get ready. Sam and Dean may have other concerns than the demon and it may be up to us to get rid of it."  


* * *

  


Dean ran and didn’t look back, didn’t stop. Not when he threw open the doors of the church and ran out into the open street, not forgetting, but not caring, what might be awaiting outside. Not even when he heard Sam call his name, anguish clear in the younger man’s voice, his brother begging him to stop. No matter how it broke his heart to hear such pain in his brother’s voice. In fact, it might have only made him run faster.

_Sleeping with a demon will condemn Sam to Hell._

The priest’s words echoed over and over in his head. He simply couldn’t push them out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps because he knew they were true. All of them. Dean knew what he was. Knew he was… tainted. He and Sam might share the same blood, a demon’s blood, but Dean was not like Sam. There was none of the… darkness… inside Sam that Dean had known all of his life. In fact, Sam had been the only bright spark within it. Even when the boy had only been a ghost to him, he had been an angel. He was… pure… in a way that Dean could never be… and Dean had already tainted that.

_When Sam dies, his soul will be down there right beside your own._

Sam had been pure before he had met Dean. If Dean had known who Sam was in the beginning… he didn’t know if he would have, if he could have, obeyed his father’s wishes. Gone after the boy in his dreams. To bring him to his father, or kill him if Sam was “unworthy”. He didn’t know, and that scared him in so many ways.

_Do you intend to wait until you 'father' shows up and hand Sam over then?_

No, the very thought made him sick...But could he? Would he? If his father came looking for him himself, found him, with Sam, what would he do? The very idea of standing in front of Azazel now, knowing he had betrayed his master in the worst possible ways, made his knees almost give out beneath him with fear. If simply thinking of it was enough to instill him with terror, how would he ever stand before his father even to protect his brother? Try to stop him from doing what he had planned for Sam…

_So he could treat your Sam the same way he has treated you._

He didn’t want to imagine Sam in the hands of his father, the idea sickened him, horrified him, imagining Sam enduring everything Dean had endured. Standing by, unable to do anything but watch as Sam was tortured… trained… beaten… taught… raped… punished… Unable to stop it. Unable to do anything. Watching as his brother was broken, reshaped, his soul twisted into whatever his father wanted, just like he had done to Dean…

_I imagine he'll enjoy fucking Sam as much as you have…_

“NOOOO!” Dean screamed at the top of his lungs, his legs finally giving out beneath him, he didn’t know if it was from physical weakness or emotional overload. He wanted to kill something. Anything. He wanted to rip it apart, skin it alive and listen to it scream, he wanted to taste its blood and bleed it slowly dry, he wanted to inflict as much pain onto it as he felt inside. The priest would have been the perfect candidate to unleash his rage upon but he couldn’t even do that, because of Sam…

Sam who he certainly hadn’t been able to outrun in his already weakened state, and now that he had stopped the younger man had easily caught up to him. He barely felt his brother’s light touch, before Dean was wrenching himself away from the younger man, hissing as though Sam’s touch had burned him, and growling, his voice deadly serious. “Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me again!”

* * *

When Dean burst through the church doors, Sam was petrified the demon was already outside and waiting, petrified Dean was running headlong into the enemy. He called his power up, ready to strike down anything that threatened his brother. What had Jim said to him, god-dammit? He practically wanted to kill Jim himself, even if only figuratively. Even so he would take some measure of delight in punching Jim's lights out for it.

Dean ran and ran hard, but Sam's longer legs gave him a slight edge and the distance between them decreased. Suddenly Dean collapsed, shouting at the heavens with everything in him, as if his very soul was torn asunder.

Sam reached Dean and put his hand on his brother's shoulder, shocked when Dean pulled away violently and the venomous words struck Sam to his core. Sam felt the tears start.

"I don't care what Jim said. He's wrong!" Sam screamed at him. "You said you were a demon. You're not! You're my brother! I love you. You're all I have left! Don't let that bastard demon take you away from me! I can't lose you! I'll die without you Dean."

He wrapped his power around Dean, poured every dram of love he felt for Dean into that power and forced Dean into his arms as he began chanting the most powerful exorcism he knew. If Dean thought he was a demon, he would prove to Dean he wasn't. If the exorcism didn't work, Dean couldn't argue what was plain as day. He could feel Dean's darkness fight against his love. He drew deeper on his power, felt the blood begin to pour from his nose and the headache begin to pound in his head as he tried to burn that darkness from Dean, tried to find the young boy inside Dean that had not been twisted by the demon…Azazel. He heard the name ring in his head. Azazel, Dean's 'father'. Jessica's murderer. Sam's 'father'. Sam clung to the image of his own father, the love he had for his real father, the love he knew his father had for Dean even after what Dean had done. He would not give up, would not let Dean go. If it burned him up from the inside out, even if the power killed him, he would save his brother. His brother would feel loved and be loved. He would not lose the man he loved more than anything else.

* * *

Seeing Sam’s tears was like a fist to his gut but Dean refused to let himself do what he wanted. He refused to reach out and take the younger man in his arms, sooth away his pain and his tears with soft touches and kisses, and promises never let him go again. But what he wanted was nothing but a fucking fairytale, and he had been lying to himself enough these last few days. He had tainted Sam enough. He had done the unthinkable. He had risked Sam’s soul to damnation, for his own selfish desires. He had soiled what should have always remained pure.

Dean almost wanted to laugh at his brother’s words. The younger man’s denial that the priest’s words had been anything but the truth, when that was perhaps the only truth that mattered now. Dean was already damned. No, he wasn’t a demon, not completely, but Dean wanted to be. It was what he had worked towards all of his life. What his father had trained him to be. To have all the strengths of his father’s kind and none of their weaknesses. He was not a demon… he was worse…

The elder man turned away from his brother’s words of love. Ignoring them as he should have always ignored them, for Sam’s sake. He had never been Sam’s to lose. Never. Though he wished he could be, it was just another foolish fairy tale he’d been trying to force himself to believe. He was Azazel’s, he had always been, and always would be. The demon owned him body and soul. No… Sam would not die without him… Sam would die, or worse, if he remained with him. He would not let Sam be tainted. He would not let the younger man take his place.

Before he could say or do anything however he felt his brother wrap around him, physically as well as the fledgling power that the younger man had no idea how to control. He heard the words Sam spoke under his breath, and he snarled at them as he tried to struggle away from the other man. His fingers digging into Sam’s arms harshly enough to leave bruises as he tried to break Sam’s hold on him.

“Let go of me!” He screamed, in anger, fear, and even pain. As he tried to resist the power twining around him, trying to reach him as it had before flowing around and between them like they were one being instead of two. It hurt on a level he could not explain trying to force it away, deny it, calling on all the anger and pain he’d ever felt in his life to deny the love Sam was trying to make him feel.

But his defenses were already crumbling. His powers were already weakened, and even though Sam was untrained, he held him easily. Matched his power easily. Perhaps because Dean didn’t want to be freed. He didn’t want to return to Azazel. He didn’t want to leave Sam. But what he wanted didn’t matter. It had never mattered.

It was the pain he could feel in Sam, understanding that the younger man would destroy _himself_ before letting him go which caused him to stop fighting. He practically crumbled in Sam’s arms. Shaking his head in denial even as he allowed Sam’s power to wash over him, to keep it from tearing the younger man apart. All he could feel was the younger man’s love and need of him and he sobbed uncontrollably against his brother’s neck.

“Not for me. Please…” He begged. 

* * *

Sam held Dean and rocked him, his own tears rolling down his cheeks. "Of course for you. You're mine," Sam told him. "I love you and nothing anyone does or says is going to ever change that. I know you're dark, he made you that way, but you're no demon. I'll bring you into the light with me. I'm not letting Azazel take you back. If demon blood condemns us to burn, we will burn together. If it doesn't, then when we finally die, we will both die free. God brought us together. Either for me to fall into Azazel's clutches and serve him, or for you to fall into my arms and serve God by helping me destroy that bastard. If you end up in Hell, I'll come after you. I'll pull you out. I am never letting you go. Never. Just like you didn't let me go when I started to fall."

 

Bobby and Jim each held a tranquilizer gun loaded with darts filled with the demon poison and Bobby carried the large blanket with the devil's trap on it. If they could get it over the demon and wrap the demon up inside it like a sack, it would contain the demon. If the demon was writhing around on the ground in agony, they potentially could.

The two hunters paused outside the church, seeing the brothers on their knees, holding each other on the other side of the parking lot near the tree line.

"I'll take left," Jim said.

"Can you feel the evil, like Dean can?"

Jim cast Bobby a disparaging look.

"Okay, okay, I was just askin'," Bobby said.

Jim's gaze raked across the parking lot and the tree line beyond as he slowly walked a perimeter around the Winchester boys. He slid his gaze over to Bobby with every sweep of his eyes, watching Bobby's back as he knew Bobby watched his. The boys seemed caught up in their own world and as he grew closer he could hear sobs coming from, he assumed, Dean, since Sam was holding his brother protectively. Jim prayed what he said had been enough to have gotten through to Dean. He knew Dean had a long way to go to redeem himself. It wasn't fair, he had been forced into evil and never known anything else, but he had to learn to care about others. First, though, he had to break his loyalty to his demon master. His love of Sam might be—no, it had to be—enough. Jim had spat words at Dean he knew the demon would use. Having heard them first from Jim gave Dean a chance to deal with them, to find his own answers so he could stand strong against the demon and know the truth.

The crack of a branch snapped Jim's attention to near where the boys held each other. He ran, gun ready as the shape exploded from the tree line. Jim's first shot missed. He was too far away and the tranq pistols didn't have good range. The strong wind didn't help. Jim pumped his legs hard, putting everything into his sprint. He saw the flash of the blade, saw the man's gaze locked on the boys, on Dean. He realized if Dean was taken out, Sam would be no match for the demon master and that was exactly what the demon intended. Kill Dean and smoke away to tell the master Sam was there. Jim knew there was no time to fire the gun and save Dean.

"Dean!" Jim screamed as he dove between the demon and Dean, the knife meant for Dean buried in Jim's chest. Jim coughed blood as he shoved the gun into the demon's stomach and fired the dart. The demon fell back, confusion crossing his face until the agony put him on the ground, writhing. Bobby was there only moments later, tossed the blanket over the demon, and wrapped the thrashing man inside, tying it tightly closed.

Jim looked down at the knife in his chest and coughed up more blood. He gave a weak smile to Dean. "Demon blood…doesn’t make you demon, son. Only a human could love…Sam like you do. Stand by him, love him, and God will welcome …both your souls."

* * *

“Sam, please…” Dean shook his head helplessly, trying to deny the younger man’s words even as he continued to cling to his brother like Sam was the only thing keeping him from drowning. He wanted Sam to take back what he was saying, what he was promising.

That was exactly what he was afraid of. That Sam wouldn’t let him go. He couldn’t stay with Sam, he didn’t belong to Sam no matter how much he wanted to. He belonged to Azazel. One day his father would come for him, tear him away from Sam and there was nothing he could do about it. He would drag the younger man down into the pit with him, no matter what Sam said, and he couldn’t allow that. He just couldn’t. Azazel would never let him go. He would never be free. Sam would only be safe if he were as far away from him as possible.

Dean shuddered when Sam mentioned his demon master’s name. How did Sam know? No, no he wouldn’t let Azazel have Sam. He couldn’t. He had to go, he had to go back. Maybe he could become better, maybe he could make Azazel satisfied with him alone, so he wouldn’t want Sam anymore. Maybe somehow he could convince him Sam was already dead, so he wouldn’t search for his brother, something, anything, but he couldn’t stay… every second he was with Sam put Sam into greater danger.

“Let me go, please…” He begged again. So lost in his focus on Sam, so lost in his despair, he didn’t feel the danger near them until it was far too late.

Even as time seemed to slow down as the demon attacked, he knew this time he wouldn’t be able to react fast enough. Exhausted from the spells he’d cast earlier and fighting Sam moments ago, he couldn’t muster enough power now to retaliate against the demon bearing down on them. He heard his own name shouted from an unexpected source at the same time as he shoved Sam away from him. He didn’t even have his knives with him, left back inside the church foolishly when he’d been so desperate to escape. At least the deadly blade was aimed for him, not Sam…

But it never found home in his flesh as it was meant to, because the man Dean had fully intended to kill moments ago suddenly stood in its path. The demon’s blade burying into the priests flesh, muscle, and bone instead of his own. Dean stood, in utter shock, barely realizing the demon had also been taken out of commission, writhing in agony that Dean knew so well, as he watched the man’s body fall. Watching the blood he had longed to spill pour from the man’s chest and mouth, spilled willingly…

What could very well be the man’s weak dying words rang in his ears like a gunshot, and all Dean could do was stand there, numb and in shock, not understanding any of it. How could a man he hated, try to protect him? How could a man he wanted to kill give his life for him? How could a man he had wanted dead… who was now dying… he suddenly wished to live?

* * *

Sam could taste Dean's fear for him, his desperation that Sam leave him so that Sam would stay safe. Flashes of images, of desires, of fears, of thoughts, flitted dizzyingly through Sam's mind. He knew Dean was their source but he could barely make sense of any of them. There a moment, then gone, to be replaced by another. All he could sort out was that Dean intended to try to leave him, to try to keep Azazel from Sam, no matter what it cost him.

"No. We fight together," Sam insisted. "You will teach me to fight and with the two of us, we will break his hold on you. With our powers merged, when we fight as one, nothing will be able to stand in our way. Not even Azazel."

Sam's head snapped up as he realized Jim was coming at them from the side and a stranger was bearing down on them, a knife aimed for Dean's back. Before Sam could even react Dean had pushed Sam away to safety, ready to accept the knife in his own chest when Jim got between the blade and Dean.

Climbing to his feet, Sam stood stunned as he saw Jim fall, as he heard the "whumph" of a tranq gun and the attacking demon stumbled back before collapsing in agony. He heard Bobby's shout of Jim's name, but when Bobby reached them, Bobby tended to what he had to and wrapped the demon in the blanket before turning to his dying friend.

Jim's words penetrated Sam's mind and the shock finally wore off as Sam's senses returned to him. The blood Jim coughed up stained his shirt darkly. There could be no doubt the wound was deadly. Jim's words were weak and his breathing labored. Sam fell to his knees by Jim, fresh tears streaming down his face.

"Jim! No!" Sam screamed at him. He couldn't lose Jim. Not another life. Not another friend. Not because of him.

Pulling the knife from Jim's chest and tossing it away violently, he dredged up his last reserves of energy. He grabbed Dean's hand and pulled Dean down beside him.

"Help me," Sam said and not waiting, let his power flare, drawing Dean's abilities in with his own. They were both so weak and Sam knew he had no chance without Dean's aid. Sam poured every last reserve he had into Jim. "You're not going to die!" he shouted and felt the golden energy twine from him, wrap around Jim and mend the deadly wound.

Sam's head pounded and he thought it was going to explode and it would surely feel better if it did. The blood poured freely from his nose and if he hadn't already been on his knees, he would have fallen to them. Sam screamed as his hands went to his temples and his world turned dark.

* * *

Dean’s paralysis was broken when Sam grabbed him and pulled him down next to the dying man. He felt what Sam was trying to do. Knew how dangerous it was. Wanted to tell the younger man not to try it, but the words never left his mouth, the refusal never even fully formed in his thoughts. Only Sam’s words, his brother’s pleading words.

_Help me._

Dean’s hands covered Sam’s where they were pressed over the dying man’s chest, barely staunching the heavy flow of blood between their fingers. He felt Sam’s powers surging, trying to repeat the healing that his brother had done to them, that even Dean couldn’t explain. Sam’s power reached out blindly and Dean caught it in his own, directed it as best he could, not knowing if it would even work, but at the same time knowing it _must_ work.

Dean concentrated with all the strength he had, ignoring the thick dripping of blood from his nostrils. Ignoring the migraine like pain that exploded in his head. Feeling Sam’s pain, his exhaustion, his strain even more potently than his own, but he didn’t try to stop him. The blood was slowing, the rise and fall of the chest beneath their hands coming easier, the heart that had been beating so weak and erratically picking up a quicker more natural rhythm.

Dean’s eyes flashed pure gold, and he tore Sam away from the other man before the power could kill them both. Hearing Sam scream and he knew his own voice echoed that pain. Powers shared, pleasure shared, pain shared, life shared...

He collapsed back on the ground with Sam in his arms.

* * *

Jim's vision edged black and he found drawing a breath was hard. When he tried, coughing racked his body and copper filled his mouth. He was dying. He really didn't mind. It hurt, but he never expected to die in his bed. He expected to die like most any hunter did. Bloody and painfully. He had married for a time. Jennifer. She had passed from cancer at such a young age, barely forty five. He knew she would be there, waiting on him. He really didn't doubt he would go to Heaven. Yes, he had done terrible things in his days, but he had begged for forgiveness and made amends where he could. Recently he had used the demon blood to cast a demonic spell, but it was for the greater good, in an effort to save his friend's son. And he had already prayed for forgiveness for that, even if only a brief prayer. And now he was dying for that same son. He wondered if it would matter to Dean that he had given his life up for him. Maybe it would help bring him the humanity Jim had told Bobby that Dean needed to find. That, in and of itself, made his death a worthy death if it had helped Dean down that road to redemption. He regretted he could not be there to see the almost demon find his way back to humanity.

He shut his eyes, content to let go of this life. He had many things he had yet hoped to do. Little things. The fence really needed painting. That momma cat that hung around his church, well, he trusted someone would feed her and her kittens. He had three loads of laundry sitting ready to be washed, and wouldn't the next pastor just be boggled by the hidden compartment with all the weapons and holy symbols and books. Ah, but Bobby would take care of those. And he really had meant to get to the Grand Canyon and ride a donkey down into its depths…

The pain flashed through him as the blade was pulled from his chest, and the blood flowed thicker into his lungs, with nothing left to stave it. The pressure inside and now outside his chest hurt but he didn't have the strength or even the concern to complain. And then the power wrapped around him, shot through him, a strange twist of power of purity. He couldn't rightfully say if it was good or evil or neither. Just pure power and it burned his insides. The blood extracted itself from his lungs, his slowly beating heart seemed to realize it was time to beat again and he found he could breathe. It was strange to be able to breathe when he could still taste the blood in his throat and his mouth.

The screams he heard made him snap his eyes open. A nightmare? Was he having a nightmare? He blinked, trying to get his brain to function. Dean cradled an unconscious Sam in his arms, Bobby stared at Jim in wonderment, and something violently writhed inside the blanket-sack Bobby still clutched.

"What did I miss?" Jim asked hoarsely, giving Bobby the barest of smiles. He realized his shoulder no longer hurt. The boys? They had healed him? No, probably just Sam. But that was okay. Dean didn't look like he was ready to rip Jim's head off and as far as Jim was concerned, that was progress. Jim staggered a little as he climbed to his feet. He looked at the blood that coated him. His blood. No wonder he felt a little light headed. He realized he still clutched the tranquilizer gun and stuffed the empty gun in his belt.

"Don't just stand there Bobby," Jim chastised. "I'm not dead yet. Get that demon inside and into a proper devil's trap."

He turned to Dean who cradled the unconscious Sam. Both boys looks pale, both had apparently had the nose bleeds from hell…probably literally.

"C'mon, son," he said to Dean, "let's get your brother inside before more unwanted company arrives. I'm not up to carrying Sam myself, and although I would imagine you could, you look almost ready to collapse yourself. Let me help. We'll get inside faster and speed is a very good thing at the moment."

* * *

For a while the only thing Dean was really aware of was the warm weight of the younger man in his arms. Everything else had faded away to a dark grey and Sam was the only bright spot left. The tickle of the younger man’s soft hair against his cheek, the warmth of Sam’s breath against the skin of his throat, his feel, his smell, it was all that mattered to him. Even the painful aftershocks that racked his body, in his mind, as intense as they were, the feeling of his skull threatening to shatter from the pressure inside of it, was dim by comparison.

If not for Sam, his concern for the younger man, Dean probably would have given into the oblivion unconsciousness as his brother had. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not until Sam was safe.

He heard the words, directed to him. Words of a man that should be dead but wasn’t thanks to Sam’s efforts. Slowly Dean forced his eyes open and even though they felt like they would burn out of his sockets from the bright glare of the sun he kept them open.

Jim’s offer to help Dean carry Sam was met by a vicious snarl however, his arms tightening around the younger man protectively.

“He’s mine.” Dean ground out, his voice a hoarse whisper, but he forced his pain wracked body to move. Pushing himself up and pulling Sam up with him, cradling the younger man against his chest. He slid his arm underneath Sam’s legs, the other around his back and lifted his brother as he stumbled to his feet. Refusing to let himself fall, not with the precious burden he carried.

That was the only reason his steps were steadier and than they should have been, taking Sam back into the safety of the church. Through the doors, his body moving on autopilot, into the workroom he and Sam had slept in before, gently laying Sam down onto the air mattress they had shared before. However as much as he wanted to he didn’t join the younger man on it. Brushing Sam’s hair away from his face tenderly before he stood again and walked over to the table.

He grabbed his knives, strapping them on and pulling them from their sheaths even as he walked out of the room again. Heading down into the basement where he had been kept prisoner not long ago. The devil’s trap on the floor the hunters had foolishly thought would contain him, now containing a real demon.

The demon that had just tried to kill him. That had tried to take Sam away from him…

* * *

Jim didn't flinch from Dean's snarl or harsh words. He knew no matter how weak Dean was that he wouldn't drop Sam, so Jim didn't even begin to try to interfere. Sam was Dean's sole reason for living at this point, sole reason for fighting. Hopefully Jim's words had burned through Dean and Dean was now prepared to face his 'father' and anything his 'father' threw at him, verbally or otherwise. Jim retrieved the dart that had missed the demon; he didn't want to risk the demon poison falling into any demon's hands, and picked up the knife that was coated in his blood. He then followed after Dean, stepping in front of Dean at the church to open the door for him and his load. He watched Dean treat Sam with the utmost care, saw the gentle look on his face, the pure love and adoration he had for his …brother. Yes. Well, as Jim told Bobby, he was not about to bring that issue up now.

The look on Dean's face sent a shiver through Jim. He didn't think he would ever feel sympathy for a demon, but he suspected that demon was going to wish it were back in Hell being tortured rather than be at Dean's mercy. After Dean left, Jim checked on Sam and cleaned up his face from the nosebleed. Sam looked so pale. That Sam could heal with his demon given powers was…shocking. Jim had never heard of such a thing, though he knew a demon could rend a person open, why not as easily mend a body as destroy it?

Hearing a sound behind him, he turned. Bobby stood there looking grim.

"If those two boys didn't light a bonfire with all their power plays, I'll eat my hat. We have to run. This place ain't safe at this point. I'll set up a couple minor demon traps to make 'em think we're still here, locked up tight. You need to get to John and keep him safe. I'm gonna take the boys back to my place. We can't be in touch. We can't give either you and John or me an' the boys away. John won't be happy, but when he's well enough, he's gotta go to your place. Can't have him leading the demons back to my place if they ain't figured out we're there. It's the only edge we got. Dean has to teach Sammy how to control those powers of his. Things get bad, we can retreat to the panic room. I told Dean to be quick about getting information from that demon," Bobby said. They could already hear the screams coming from the basement.

"I need your help getting things loaded up," Bobby continued. "I'm going to give you most of the demon poison. I can make more, but I'll give you the recipe and some supplies in case you need it. I'll give you a mojo bag, too, just in case. Let's split up what we need while Dean tends to what he's got to. I’m gonna pull the Impala up. We'll get it loaded, then get your vehicle up here and loaded. Only gather what we absolutely need. The faster we're the hell out of here, the safer it'll be."

Jim gave a sharp nod and set to work.  


* * *

  


Dean walked up the stairs, closed the basement door tightly behind him, and wiped off his bloody blades on his shirt before sliding them back in their sheaths. The shirt itself was pretty much ruined anyway, so it didn’t matter. He took it off and used it to wipe off some of the blood on his face and hands as well before tossing it aside.

He glanced up briefly at the open doors of the church, a car pulled up just outside and being loaded with supplies. Dean spared it and the hunters little more than a glance before he made his way back to the room where he’d left Sam.

The younger man was exactly where Dean had left him, though one of the other men had obviously cleaned him up. Someone had washed away Sam’s blood on his face, the hunter’s blood on his hands. Unfortunately not all of it could be removed, especially under the younger man’s fingernails.

It was the only place Dean felt he could touch Sam where he wouldn’t soil the younger man somehow. He curled his fingers around the younger man’s gently, his thumb caressing the back of Sam’s hand slowly. He wanted to curl around Sam completely, close his eyes and forget about anything else in the world for a while, but he didn’t have that luxury now.

He had been quick with the demon, like the hunter said. It hadn’t taken much “coaxing” to get the demon to tell him what he wanted to know. Dean was very good at what he did, after all. Unfortunately it wasn’t able to tell him much. It was only a low level demon it wouldn’t have been trusted with such knowledge.

It had confirmed that Dumah, and the other demon who’d attacked Sam before, had been sent to watch him. To take Sam in case he failed bringing the younger man to Azazel himself. It hadn’t been able to tell him why more demons were not in the area, and hadn’t been sent to investigate the disturbance at the church. Apparently Azazel’s attention was directed elsewhere for the time being, and that worried Dean a great deal. What could be so important that his father not only didn’t care about _his_ disappearance but was also unconcerned for the moment about his failure bringing Sam to him?

It couldn’t tell him more unfortunately, no matter how loudly he’d made it scream, and he’d finally ended its life painfully and messily. 

* * *

Bobby made quick work of getting the Impala loaded with the essentials: the weapons, the duffels, the spell components and the books. Since Bobby didn't think they absolutely had to beat feet and run, he judged they had a little spare time to grab some extras. It would be a shame to abandon everything they'd bought if they had the opportunity to take some of it with them. With that in mind he took the items he thought would be most useful. He grabbed the queen-sized air mattress, the sheets for it, the new clothes, one of the new electric heaters, the new coffee pot, one of the ice chests, and some of the food. Bobby spread out a couple blankets in the back seat and tossed in a couple pillows so the brothers could get some rest, though admittedly he would try make certain Sam was the one sitting behind him if he could. There wasn't really anything to stop Dean from slitting his throat, taking the car and disappearing with Sam. He really just hoped the two would sleep most the way to his place. It would be better if neither of them were seen anyhow.

As soon as the Impala was loaded Bobby pulled it forward and retrieved Jim's car while Jim brought the next batch of supplies to the church entrance. Since Jim had lost a bit of blood, Bobby figured him going up and down the stairs would only tire him out faster. There wouldn't be as much to load into Jim's car so Bobby knew it ought to go fast. He was going to keep six poison filled tranquilizer darts for himself and leave two for Jim, but he was also giving Jim the bulk of the already created poison. With the lab equipment he was sending with Jim and the spell components, Jim would be able to make up more poison if he needed it.

 

Bobby was getting ready to head up the stairs to get the first batch of things for Jim's car when he saw a shirtless Dean standing at the church doors. Bobby shook his head and walked over to the Impala, digging out one on the new shirts Sam had bought for Dean. As he climbed the stairs and got closer to man, Bobby saw smears of blood on his hands and viciously scarred chest. Bobby was glad he had pulled the shackles out of the basement earlier because he really didn't want to see what sort of mess Dean had left down there. He handed Dean the clean shirt, then waved at the stuff stacked by the door.

"If you feel up to it, would you help Jim get that stuff loaded in his car? Leave the wooden box for Jim to carry. It's got one of the spell bags in it. I can't imagine it would affect you, but better safe and all that crap."

Bobby turned from Dean and set a few additional perimeter alarms and a few little spells here and there, implying they were still holed up in the church and concerned about someone sneaking up on them. By the time he got back to the front doors, Jim was coming out of the church.

"I did a final walkthrough," Jim said. "We've got everything we need out of there and I don't think we've left anything that will lead them to us. I made sure I got all the receipts from the bags, any bags with store names, anything I thought that might be easily traceable. It should at least help minimize any trail. Dean's getting Sam now."

"You got the runes to protect you and Johnny?"

Jim nodded. "We'll be fine. They're going to be a lot more interested in tracking you down than us. If they draw the right conclusions that Dean had joined Sam, then they'll probably bet Dean won't let Sam walk into a trap. Of course, I'm not going to stand out in the street and thumb my nose at them either."

Bobby rested his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Tell John I'll take care of his boys. You two look after each other. We'll be in touch as soon as we think we can risk it."

"Godspeed, Bobby. And just so you know, I gave Dean my black rosary. Didn't figure he had one in his arsenal. I'll see you soon."

Jim headed to his car.

* * *

After checking on Sam, making sure the younger man was still all right, Dean reluctantly left his brother to join the hunters at the front of the church. Watching silently by the doors as the cars were loaded until Bobby came to him with a shirt and asked him to help load up one of the cars. There was really no point in refusing, the quicker they could leave the better. So Dean wordlessly pulled on the dark green shirt, buttoned it up, and started carrying the supplies to the indicated car.

When he was finished he headed back into the church only to be met by Jim in the hallway. Dean frowned a little at the other man, still not completely sure what to think of him. A part of him still wouldn’t have minded to put his knife in the older man’s heart for what he had said, done, to him before. But the other part, the part that had made him help Sam save the man’s life when he’d been dying made him pause, and when the older man gave him the rosary Dean merely took it without a word.

Though he knew how to use one, he was not allowed to carry one normally in his father’s presence. Dean slid it into his pocket now before he continued back to the room where Sam slept. Gathering up his brother into his arms and carrying him quickly outside to the car with the blankets and pillows obviously laid out in the back for the younger man.

Dean did not accept any help getting Sam inside the car, though it was admittedly not an easy task given the younger man’s size and his own weakness, but he managed. Once the younger man was settled he stood back and stared at Sam. It would be easy to leave now with Sam unconscious. To leave him in the hands of the hunters to look after him while Dean led the demons away from his brother. When he was caught, he wouldn’t tell them where Sam was. He had been trained to withstand torture, after all. It would be safer for Sam if he left…

Instead he joined Sam in the backseat, and though it was a tight fit for both of them he managed to curl himself up against the younger man’s back, and wrap his arms around Sam’s waist. Holding the other man securely as he brushed his lips against the back of Sam’s neck. He couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to. It wasn’t what Sam wanted. He was Sam’s now. Perhaps he always had been.

“I’m yours.” He whispered softly into the younger man’s ear. 

* * *

Although Bobby moved to help Dean, one glare from the young man and Bobby backed off, letting Dean struggle all he wanted. It was obvious Dean was on his last reserves at this point. He silently watched Dean as the young man stood outside the car, looking in on the sleeping Sam. Indecision flashing across the man's face, Bobby choose to keep his mouth shut. It was up to Dean whether to stay or go. Not like Bobby could really stop him in either case, but he could use words to attempt to persuade Dean to a course of action if he had wanted, but he didn't.

Dean made his choice and slid in back with Sam, wrapping Sam in his arms protectively. Well, Bobby figured he didn't have to worry about Dean shoving a knife through the seat, at least not for awhile. It was …. weird to see Sam in Dean's arms. Bobby couldn't help but equate Dean to an adoring guard dog. He'd do anything for his master, and kill anyone who tried to touch his master.

After climbing into the driver's seat, he started the car, pausing long enough to spread a light blanket over the two boys. He resettled himself and gave a wave to Jim before heading out onto the open highway.

The long drive back to his place was uneventful. He stopped twice for gas, once about halfway home, and another time not far from his house, making sure the Impala had a full tank if they needed it for any reason. Both times they stopped Dean roused, his eyes dark and wary. Bobby reassured him they were just stopping for gas both times and as soon as they were back on the road, the young man went right back to sleep. Sam hadn't stirred and it was beginning to concern Bobby.

Relief filled Bobby when he reached his drive. It was good to be home. Bobby pulled up as close to the house as he could. As before, as soon as he shut the engine off, Dean's eyes slit open. It was almost unnerving.

"We're here, Son. See if you can't wake Sam up. He should probably eat a little something. You both probably ought to." Bobby straightened and cast his gaze around the junkyard. It seemed quiet and he didn't feel like they were being watched or had been followed, still, it might be best to go ahead and put the brothers in the panic room. No sense taking any more chances than necessary.

Bobby grabbed a few things from the front seat and walked up the stairs to his house. He left the door standing open for Dean and Sam while he set the bag of books and weapons down, then went into the kitchen and got some coffee started. He tossed some bacon into the skillet on the gas stove and flicked on the oven so he could make up a batch of toast for them. He let the bacon begin to cook while he started unloading the car.

* * *

After the older man got into the driver’s seat and started the car, Dean allowed himself to relax finally. The exhaustion that had been pulling at him all this time allowing him to fall asleep almost immediately. The warm weight of Sam in his arms and the (surprisingly) familiar and comforting sound of the rumbling engine lulling him deeper into sleep than he normally would have allowed himself.

Though not so deep that he didn’t wake instantly every time there was a significant change in his surroundings. Every time they stopped and the engine shut off he was awake and alert in an instant, one hand automatically shifting to one of the knifes at his hip beneath the blanket, his fingers easily curling around the hilt. Always ready to defend the precious bundle in his arms with his life if he had to.

When they finally reached their destination, Dean nodded slightly to Bobby’s suggestion before turning his whole attention onto Sam again. Lifting a hand to brush his brother’s hair back away from his face. It was almost a shame to wake the younger man up, he looked so peaceful. But Bobby was right, and more than that, he wanted to see Sam’s eyes open again, feel Sam’s touch, hear his voice.

“Sam?” He said softly, close to the shell of the younger man’s ear. Letting his lips lightly brush along the curve down to the other man’s neck, lightly nipping at the soft skin just below it, licking and sucking. He nuzzled gently into his brother’s neck while his hand trailed slowly down the younger man’s shoulder and back. Slipping underneath the back of Sam’s shirt to gently caress the flesh warmed by sleep and being pressed so close together for so long, letting his fingers trail around to caress up Sam’s stomach.

“Time to wake up, Sammy…” Dean breathed against the younger man’s neck.

* * *

Snatches of events flashed through his mind.

_The black-eyed man rushing Dean, ready to kill his brother, his lover. Jim's blood pouring over his hands, the liquid warm and slick. The darkness curling inside him, wanting to rend and destroy while Sam forced it to mend instead. Dean's warm arms catching him, holding him, carrying him. Gentle touches on his skin. Treasured. The man with gold eyes. Calling to him. Demanding he come. Trying to grab hold of the darkness inside Sam, trying to find Sam and drag him away. Silver and gold lines batting back those searching tendrils, weaving Sam's essence into the background so he couldn't be found. The soft rumble he knew, had heard all his life. The warm arms wrapped around him, protecting him, keeping him safe. Soft measured breathes warm on his neck. Someone calling his name softly, lovingly. The gentle touch running down his back, the callused hand like fire on his flesh, welcome fire. Wet hot lips on his neck calling him out of his sleep._

Sam slowly opened his eyes, arching a little into the mouth lightly biting and sucking on his neck. The touch on his stomach tender and familiar. The front seat of the Impala all he saw in front of him. One thought ran through him.

_Shit! He was making out in the back seat of the car and his Dad was going to come along any minute and catch him._

Sam snapped awake and started to sit up, realizing that he was precariously balanced on the edge of the seat, the girl he was making out with behind him and holding him in place and the strong arm kept him from flailing and falling on to his face onto the floor.

….Strong arm….

Dean.

Dean held him. His dad wasn't there…was he? Crap! Jim? Had Jim survived? Where was he? Where were they?

Sam put his hand over Dean's arm as he slowly pushed himself up high enough to peer out the window. He felt Dean's arm tighten around him and try to pull him back down.

Bobby's. They were at Bobby's. He collapsed back into the seat and turned his head.

"Is Jim…" he began, but his question was swallowed by Dean's hot mouth on his own, and he couldn't do anything but respond. Dean's close presence, their mouths locked together, chasing away any lingering images from his sleep. He groaned into Dean's mouth and wrapped his arm over Dean's waist and slid his hand down to Dean's buttocks and tried to pull their bodies closer. He welcomed Dean's tongue into his mouth, brushed its investigating tip with his own tongue and pressed his mouth harder against Dean's.

He really did need to know about Jim, but he was afraid of the answer and this, this was so much safer. Only love. Not loss.  


* * *

  


Dean felt Sam shift against him as the younger man woke, pushing back against him and the elder man smiled against his brother’s warm skin. The elder man moaned softly and let his hand on Sam’s stomach slide just a little bit lower, his fingertips dipping just under the waistband of his jeans.

He knew the instant that Sam woke up fully, the way the younger man tried to sit up suddenly and nearly toppled off the seat all together if Dean hadn’t had such a good hold on him.

Dean made a sound of displeasure when the younger man tried to pull away and tugged Sam back in close to him. He shifted his weight when Sam turned so that the younger man was more underneath him, and let one of his thighs slip between Sam’s legs. His arms wrapping even more securely around his brother, his mouth finding Sam’s and his tongue pushing its way past the younger man’s lips, all but ignoring his brother’s words.

He moaned at the feeling of Sam’s hand on his ass and shifted his hips forward, rubbing himself against the younger man as he let his tongue explore his brother’s mouth as though it were for the first time. So close… he’d come so close to never feeling this again…

He still wasn’t sure what to think about everything the man had said to him. It still bothered him and made him afraid for Sam. Made him afraid for them both… but he could not deny what he felt for the younger man. It would be easier to cut out his own heart than to stop deny this.

Dean brought an end to their kiss only to allow them both to take a much needed breath. Though that didn’t stop him from continuing to press smaller kisses to them as he panted softly against younger man’s lips, then working his way down Sam’s jaw and throat with little flicks of his tongue.

“The priest is alive.” He finally said, almost as an afterthought, before latching onto the spot just above Sam’s collar bone with his mouth and beginning to suck a bruise into the other man’s skin. At the same time working his hand underneath Sam’s jeans to palm the warm flesh and muscle of the younger man’s ass. 

* * *

When Dean pressed down and rubbed against him Sam moaned into his brother's mouth and his grip tightened on his brother's ass. When Dean broke away from the kiss that was really beginning to do things to Sam's body, Sam gave a small whimper of complaint, even though it did give him a chance to catch his breath. Dean's own breath washed over his lips and skin as his lips worked their way down to Sam's throat and Sam couldn't help but expose his throat more to that talented mouth. He barely heard Dean's affirmation that Jim was alive because he was groaning as Dean sucked at his skin and slid his hand down the back of his jeans. Sam pressed down on Dean's ass as he arched up into Dean, rubbing against him, his other hand sliding under Dean's shirt and raking his nails along Dean's back.

 

Bobby walked down the stairs and headed toward the car. He frowned. Dean still wasn't out with Sam? Was he having trouble waking Sam up? He approached the car worriedly.

"Dean, is Sam …" Bobby's words faded as he choked on them.

They were both awake. Definitely both awake. Sam was moaning and bucking up against his _older brother_ who was busy laying a hicky on him and had his hand stuffed down the back of Sam's pants. A small voice inside him noted helpfully that at least it wasn't down the front of Sam's pants. Bobby stood and stared, mouth agape. Yeah, he and Jim knew the brothers were making out but-but-but…

 

Sam's eyes, half closed as he enjoyed Dean's ministrations, snapped open when he heard Bobby's voice. Bobby stood there, staring in at them and the only way it could have been worse was if it had been his dad finding him making out in the backseat with his brother. Sam immediately turned scarlet red and yanked his hand out from under Dean's shirt.

"Bobby, uh, hi," Sam stuttered, turning redder if that was possible, as he tried to encourage Dean to cease and desist.

* * *

Of course Dean had heard Bobby's voice, and had decided to ignore it. He was far more concerned with the warmth of his brother's flesh beneath his mouth and hands. Moaning at the feel of Sam's hand sliding up underneath his shirt and resting on his back. Loving the feel of the younger man's nails on his skin, his brother clutching his ass, and bucking up against him.

However when Sam's attention was no longer fully on him, in fact, pushing at his shoulders, trying to push him away, Dean finally stopped sucking on Sam's skin and lifted his head. Not bothering to remove his hand from where it was, palming his younger brother's ass, and certainly not shifting his position off of the younger man despite Sam's pushes. His annoyance was more than apparent, but he didn't even look at Sam, rather turning his glare upon Bobby who'd interrupted them.

"As you can see, Sam and I are busy, and this isn't a free show." Dean said, rather than stopping or removing his hand from the back of Sam's pants, giving the younger man's ass a good squeeze instead as he slid his fingers down between his cheeks.

* * *

Sam felt Dean press harder against him and when he felt Dean's finger dive between his cheeks to reach that sensitive hole, he tried but couldn't stifle his moan, couldn't help but push back against Dean. His head fell back, embarrassed beyond embarrassed, and his dick just didn't seem to care Bobby was standing just outside the car looking in on them, shock on his face.

 

Dean's annoyed insolent tone got to Bobby. Maybe even more than seeing the brothers humping each other. He was, more than a little, glad he hadn't waited to come out because he did NOT need to see them really going at it. He wasn't a a homophobe, it never particularly mattered to him what flavor a man chose in a partner, though he still found it odd to think of Sam with a man. Maybe they were brothers but, hell, they hadn't grown up together, hardly knew each other except for sharing that bond Sam had told him and Jim about. He could understand how that bond and Sam's loss might drive him into the arms of someone familiar and caring. The look on Dean's face when Sam was in danger of going darkside left no room for doubt Dean the demon boy cared deeply for Sam. And he had seen Dean in Sam's arms after Jim had said what ever he had said to Dean, so Sam certainly cared for Dean. As was potently obvious. Okay, he would push aside the word, the concept of, incest for now. This was going to take some time to deal with, and he would definitely have a few words with Sam about it but they could not afford for Bobby to freak out about it. So Bobby would save his freaking out for later tonight when he could have a good stiff drink, several good stiff drinks in fact, and try to deal with it all. And there was so much to deal with, aside from the whole brother thing, he was looking forward to getting stinking drunk.

Bobby opened the rear car door. "And the back of the Impala ain't a hotel! We've been on the run, Sam hasn't eaten in I don't know how long, the car needs unloaded, and we need to get you two inside, out of view, and safe. So keep your damned dick in your pants and both of you get off your asses and help me get the car unloaded. After your work is done, and you've eaten, then," Bobby waved a hand, "you can pick up where you left off, but inside where it's safe and where I don't have to see or hear you."

 

* * *

The longer Bobby stood there staring at them the more annoyed Dean got. When the older man instead of leaving opened the rear car door and gave his little speech, Dean’s annoyance flashed over to real anger very quickly.

“What we do with our dicks and when is none of your fucking concern.” Dean all but growled at the older man, still not bothering to move himself or his hands off of his brother. In fact, only grinding and rotating his hips down harder against the younger man’s. Enjoying the friction of their erections sliding together even with the layers of cloth separating them.

“Sam ate the last time I did, this morning, and he can eat again when he says he’s hungry, he doesn’t need you to tell him to. Unloading the car can wait fifteen minutes. And we don’t need a god damned chaperone, so if you don’t want to see and hear then get lost.” Dean continued, and with barely a thought Dean pulled the car door out of the man’s hand, shut and locked it, as well as all the other doors for good measure.

Ignoring the older hunter completely then, Dean turned his attention back to his brother. Taking the younger man’s mouth in a fierce kiss, practically thrusting his tongue down Sam’s throat with a deep moan of pleasure.

* * *

Sam was mortified. That was the only word for it. Bobby was right, they needed to do just what Bobby said they needed to. But Dean felt so good lying on top of him, pressing down on his most definite erection. Bobby was going to be pissed as hell if they didn't do what he told them and Bobby had gone above and beyond in helping Sam, and really, accepting Dean. Kind of. And he really was hungry.

When Dean slammed the door and stuck his tongue down Sam's throat, kissing him hard enough to surely leave bruises, moaning into his mouth, it was hard to concentrate on what he should be doing rather than what he was doing. Dean grinding down against him brought its own moan from him. That moan turned into a groan when he heard Bobby's next comment.

"Sorry. I thought Sam was worth more to you than a fifteen minute fuck!"

He felt Dean's tension, felt his anger increase and could feel the threat of Dean's powers coming into play.

"No!" Sam told Dean, pulling away from the kiss. "Don't you dare do anything. If nothing else, we're below their radar, and we need to stay below their radar." He planted a placating kiss on the elder man's lips. "Let's get the car unloaded and get inside. I'd like more than a fifteen minute quickie. I want food, I want a shower, and then," He pulled Dean into a fierce kiss of his own. "I expect dessert." He bucked up against Dean, rubbing his erection hard against him. "A good long dessert with no interruptions and I want to hear my name on your lips when you make love to me, when you're buried inside me."  


* * *

Dean was coming very close to reminding the older hunter that he wasn't some damned tamed dog to be ordered around, especially not by Bobby. His anger was close to boiling over, and he wasn't afraid to use it against the older man. An almost vicious growl escaping his lips at the hunter's next comment, his head snapping up and his eyes flashing. But when Sam pulled away from him, telling him to stop, Dean all but froze everything he was doing, looking back down into his brother's eyes.

The soft kiss the younger man placed on his lips made Dean relax slightly, his promise that they would pick up where they left off soon and the deeper longer kiss made his anger dissipate if not his arousal. He licked his lips nodded slightly, confirming he would do whatever Sam wanted. Though that didn't stop Dean from casting the older hunter a nasty glare as he pushed himself up off the younger man, unlocked the door behind him, and got out of the car. Not bothering to hide the lingering effects of his arousal from the older man.

Without a word Dean went around the trunk of the car, grabbed some things out of it, and proceeded to carry them into the house without a word.

* * *

Bobby's arms were folded across his chest and he matched Dean glare for glare, but he was surprised he hadn't ended up halfway across the yard. He had Sam to thank for that and he knew it.

When Sam climbed out of the car, he managed a sheepish grin, embarrassed by his erection and the older hunter finding them and seeing them, and his blushing face showed it. "I'm sorry Bobby. I know…I know it's weird."

"We'll talk later about it. Just keep that boy from killing me. Remind him you both need me. But I can tell him and me are gonna butt heads. He's gotta be a Winchester. Never wanted to strangle someone so bad in all my life," Bobby growled as he watched Dean walk up the stairs and into his house.

"Well, I kinda hope he isn't," Sam admitted softly. "I don't want to think about—"

"Stop worrying about it, Sam," Bobby said, but shifted a little uncomfortably. "Look, I don't want to see it, I don't want to think about it, and I'm definitely going to need a good stiff drink tonight. We'll talk about it later. Right now, I just want to get you boys safe down in the basement. I got a panic room down there." He led Sam back to the trunk. "I brought the queen sized mattress for you. I figured you…well that you might like the bigger mattress for down there."

Sam smiled at Bobby's words. "Thanks Bobby. I'll talk to him, try to explain." When Bobby handed him the mattress, he blushed a little. "Thanks for that, too."

"Well, get to work," Bobby said, motioning at the trunk as he began to grab stuff out of it and carry it in.

Sam loaded up, noticing that Bobby had brought everything he bought for Dean. He watched Bobby stomp up the stairs, ignoring Dean as they passed. Sam started for the door. Seeing Dean's expression, he stopped in front of him.

"Play nice," he scolded gently. Then he motioned to the box he held among the bags. "Look, he even brought along the big mattress for us. And everything I bought for you. He's just worried about us and wants us safe. And thank you. For doing what I asked." He leaned in and planted a light kiss on Dean's lips then whispered in his ear. "I'll thank you properly after we eat and shower." He nipped Dean's ear and then headed for the stairs.

* * *

Dean could smell the bacon cooking in the kitchen when he entered the house, dumping the supplies he’d carried in by the door. When his stomach growled at the smell he grudgingly had to admit he was a little hungry himself. Not that he was about to admit it, and besides that, he was used to going without food. Sometimes days. He’d been “spoiled” since he’d been... with... the hunters and Sam. He wasn’t used to eating three square meals a day on a regular basis. He had to remind himself that Sam probably wasn’t used to going without meals like he had, and maybe, big maybe, Bobby was right about that much.

That didn’t mean he was at all happy about having to stop what he and Sam had been doing, and he certainly didn’t like the implication that he had been being careless with his brother’s safety. He’d never let anything happen to Sam. The older hunter should know _that_ by now. He didn’t like the older man ordering him around either, but he would abide by Sam’s wishes...

Heading back outside to the car for more supplies, Dean didn’t bother to hide a satisfied smirk noting the older man’s rather foul expression as they passed. He wasn’t surprised at all when Sam stopped him, and arched an eyebrow at the other man when his brother told him to “play nice.” He didn’t bother to remind the younger man that he _was_ playing nice. He hadn’t ripped out the older man’s liver yet, after all, but he didn’t think his brother would appreciate his point of view. He also didn’t bother to remind Sam that Bobby was hardly worried about _him_ , only Sam.

Sam’s thanks surprised him a little, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain, especially with the younger man’s promise to thank him “properly” later. As he watched Sam’s ass as the younger man walked into the house and up the stairs Dean knew he was going to very much enjoy extracting that thanks from the younger man.

Dean continued on his way to the car, gathering as much of the supplies out of it as he could carry, the sooner they finished this meaningless manual labor, dinner, and showers the better.

* * *

Sam was a little startled that Dean was surprised by his thanks. Then again, when did a demon say thanks? He would eventually convince Dean that Bobby might be gruff, but was good hearted. He wasn't sure Bobby particularly liked Dean, but for Sam, he would deal with Dean and provide for them both. Sam had to admit he was surprised Bobby had sort of approved of their relationship by bringing the big mattress for them. He knew Dean didn't understand, not really. He was also pleased that Bobby had brought Dean's new things. Having eyed everything in the trunk, he knew the heater, the coffee pot, and a few other things were for Sam and Dean down in the …panic room? He was rather looking forward to seeing what Bobby considered a panic room.

When he hit the front door, the smell of the cooking bacon had his stomach rumbling and growling in demand. Fresh, home cooked food. And Bobby was a decent cook most times. Bobby waved him to drop his load by the basement door.

Bobby hurried back out to the car. He didn't even bother to glower at Dean this time. They'd had their tiff, Bobby survived, and Sam convinced Dean to do what Bobby wanted. Acceptable for an outcome as far as Bobby was concerned. Besides, he really did want to try to pick the demon boy's brains about the Abyssal Tongue. And he was itching to get a look at those books Jim had given him to give to Dean.

Sam strode back out to the car, passing his brother, taking a moment to leer at him, raking his eyes over Dean's body. He was definitely looking forward to a shower, preferably with Dean, then a nice long bout of love making, followed up by another shower, and a good long sleep in his brother's arms on a comfortable mattress and no worries about somebody walking in on them. They could be as noisy as they wanted and he wanted to hear Dean shout his pleasure, he wanted to give Dean whatever Dean wanted to take from him.

He saw Bobby dump his next load in the living room, then went on into the kitchen. "Sam, you and your brother finish unloading the car. I need to finish getting breakfast cooked. It should be done by the time you two are."

"Got it, Bobby," Sam called in to him.

Between Sam and Dean, the Impala was unloaded in short order and Sam moved the old car into a spot along side the house. It was out of direct line of sight of the driveway, mostly in the shade, and quickly accessible through a window if need be.

"Dean," Bobby called to the man from the kitchen. "Would you mind getting out some plates from the cabinet and some glasses? OJ and butter are in the fridge, and silverware is in the drawer by the sink. Is scrambled eggs okay or you prefer 'em over easy? I think I got some cheese and onion in the fridge and could whip up an omelet if that's more you your liking."

Bobby didn't bother turning around as he pulled the bacon out of the pan, stacking the slices onto a thick layer of paper towels. He opened the oven and started filling it with slices of bread. If the boy wanted to eat, he could damned well do his share of chores. And Bobby did try to ask politely. Sam he would have just told to get the plates out, but he figured Dean wouldn't take too well to that same tone. John always bristled when Bobby told him to do something rather than asked. But John couldn't throw him across the room, hold him against the wall and practice his skills at knife throwing or something.

* * *

Dean dumped his last load of crap by the door while Sam moved the car. Standing in the hallway he took his first good look around the house they would apparently be staying for a while, Bobby’s home, apparently. It was old, definitely had seen better years, but it was larger than he expected. Two floors plus a basement, living room, kitchen, what looked like a den or office of some kind. His sharp eyes easily picked out the various protection symbols that had been etched into the wood or drawn onto the walls and Dean couldn’t help but approve.

Dean wasn’t really surprised looking through one doorway to see shelves lining the walls filled by books mostly. He didn’t need to look at the titles to know what they were. Books on the occult, demons, spirits, and any number of creatures, typical hunter reading. Though some of the older looking books, the covers bound in leather and the pages yellowed, did catch his attention, but before he could more than glance at them he heard Bobby’s voice from the kitchen.

Dean huffed to himself and rolled his eyes when the older man asked him to set the table of all things. He thought briefly about ignoring Bobby. But not wanting to upset Sam instead he merely walked into the kitchen and began opening cabinets searching for the previously mentioned items. Taking the plates and glasses out of the cupboard and putting them on the table, the same with the orange juice and butter.

It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do at the moment anyway, well, nothing better to do that hadn’t already been interrupted. Refusing or ignoring the man just to test his temper could have been amusing, but again, Dean didn’t want to upset, or worse, anger his brother.

“It doesn’t matter.” Dean answered simply when the older man asked him how he wanted his eggs. Whether the older man took it as more stubbornness or not, didn’t really concern Dean, but the simple fact of the matter was that it really didn’t matter to him. Food was food. He wasn’t very picky about what he ate. The man could have handed him a mold covered crust of bread and some putrid water and Dean would have taken it without any real complaint.

Dean walked over to the sink and opened the drawer, took out some silverware and put it down on the table next to the plates. He was leaning against the counters flipping one of the butter knives between his fingers by the time Sam finally joined them in the kitchen. 

* * *

"Thank you, Dean," Bobby said as he poured the scrambled eggs into the sizzling pan. "You boys sit down. I got it from here."

Bobby busied himself with stacking the toast on the plate, the bacon, and as soon as the eggs were done, he put them in a big bowl. He set everything on the table and got the coffee started before joining the two at the table. Pleased, he thought to himself, Now this is a proper breakfast.

"Sam, if you'd do the clean up when we're done, I think I ought take your brother around and show him the things he needs to know about the house. I don't know if I got the kind of protection you boys might need, so you two might need to put some more of those symbols around the house when you feel up to it. Tomorrow sometime or tonight. Whenever." He glanced at Dean. "I don't know if you need spell components but I'll show you the cupboard of them. I do have a few more exotics hidden about, so if you need anything, ask. I might have it. I'll show you the weapons cache, and you can take what you think you might need, if you want more than those knives you got. I don't got anything that'll kill a demon though. 'Cept maybe that demon poison. I'll get some of that made up this evening and get some more tranq darts set up and get you boys each a pistol of 'em.

"I figure you boys would be safest sleeping down in the panic room. Dean, you'll have to let me know if that room will keep your powers hidden when you use them or if when you're teaching Sam you're waving a red flag. I'll take both you boys on the tour of the panic room after we get the other stuff done. We can get the supplies sorted out, get stuff down there for you. There is a shower down there, but it's not the greatest, so we'll set you up in the guest bathroom. I dunno if you got an interest Dean, but I might have some books you're welcome to thumb through.

"Sammy already knows, but I'll tell you. You're my guest. Damned near anything I got, you're welcome to borrow. If you need something, ask if you can't find it. I'd appreciate you being careful with my stuff. In return for me feeding you and doing my best to be a good host, I ask you help out with the chores. Dishes, cooking, taking out the trash, laundry, picking up after yerself, things like that. Tomorrow I'm going out to stock us up on food and anything else we might need. You be thinking if there's anything you need or want. You too, Sammy."

Sam smiled to himself as Bobby ticked off the things he wanted to tell Dean. He wondered how Dean was going to react to Bobby offering everything but the shirt off his back. That too, if Dean really needed it. He grinned at Dean as he said, "No problem Bobby. I'll get the kitchen cleaned up.

* * *

Dean looked at the older hunter as though Bobby had spontaneously grown a second head. Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the older man’s offer of “thanks” as he sat down. He’d just gotten dishes out of the damn cupboard, nothing special, nothing that needed “gratitude”.

What was with all of the politeness all of a sudden? He’d already promised Sam that he wouldn’t gut the older man like a fish in his sleep, this forced “please and thank you” shit was beginning to get on his nerves almost as much as the older man’s obvious scorn from a few days ago. At least the man’s hate towards him had been honest.

Glancing at the younger man beside him Dean had the feeling the older man’s change in attitude was more for his brother’s benefit than his. Since Dean honestly didn’t care what the older hunter thought of him. As long as Bobby stayed out of his way, he would stay out of the hunter’s. A plain and simple arrangement as far as Dean was concerned, no reason to sugar coat it further.

If Bobby was doing it to please Sam, however, there wasn’t much Dean could do about it. In private however he hoped the man dropped the pretending to play nice act or Dean was going to get very irritated very quickly. He wasn’t an idiot and didn’t appreciate being treated like a simpleton.

Dean nodded absently as the older man spoke, resisting the urge to yawn. Yes, he’d take a look at the protections. Yes, he’d put more up later if he thought they needed more. He had honestly no idea if anything would really shield his, or Sam’s, powers from his father… from Azazel. Aside from not using them. But it was a risk they had to take because Sam needed to learn. He could only hope whatever protections he put up, and whatever protection this “panic room” offered would be enough.

Dean raised an eyebrow when the older man went on to call him his “guest”. Yeah right. Guest… glanced at Sam, his expression probably clearly reading _“is he fucking for real?”_ but seeing Sam’s rather pleased look Dean merely sighed and once more resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the whole act. Whatever. If it made Sam happy, he’d play along. He’d do whatever meaningless manual labor Bobby wanted. Though he honestly didn’t think the man wanted him to “cook” considering Dean had no idea how.

“I don’t need anything.” He answered the older man’s question easily enough. Everything Sam had gotten for him already were luxuries that Dean wasn’t used to having anyway. Hoping that the discussion or whatever was over now, Dean sat back and waited for the other men to take their portions of the meal and for Sam to give him whatever was going to be his. 

* * *

Sam had already dug out a pile of scrambled eggs and five slices of bacon. He buttered up the toast as he listened to Bobby. He started eating then glanced over at his brother. Dean hadn't begun to dish anything out onto his plate. Bobby, being the good host was waiting for Dean to take what he wanted.

Sam and Bobby passed mildly confused looks.

"Dean," Sam asked, "aren't you hungry?"

"The skillets still hot," Bobby offered. "I can still fix you up some eggs over easy if this isn't to your liking. Or something else if you don't like eggs. I can fry you up some chicken or a burger, but it'll take a bit since the meat's frozen."

Sam sat back and tilted his head. "That's not the problem is it Dean?" Demons had an hierarchy. And he remembered that Dean wasn't fed that often, at least if his 'dreams' were accurate. Dean being human got the leftovers. If there _was_ anything left over. Sam reached across the table and took Dean's hand in his own. "Everyone gets an equal share. And if there's food left over and you want more, you can go back for seconds. You ask if anyone else wants seconds and then you and they split what's left. If no one else wants anymore, then you can have as much of the extra as you want. And Bobby being the host is letting you have first shot at the food. If this were my place, you and Bobby would serve yourselves first," Sam explained.

* * *

Dean stared at Bobby, waiting, and Bobby stared at him. It was awkward and he was beginning to feel uncomfortable under the regard and he didn’t like it. What exactly was the older man was waiting for? He’d answered Bobby’s question. What else did he want? Maybe he wanted him to leave the table now so he and Sam could finish eating? To be honest he was a little surprised he’d been asked to sit down to begin with.

Dean actually started to get up when Sam asked him if he were hungry and Dean turned to look at the younger man before looking back at Bobby when the older man offered to make him something else. Dean shook his head. The food was probably fine, he didn’t need anything else…

Dean looked back over to his brother when Sam guessed what the “problem” was, took his hand and began to explain. Dean frowned a little, not really understanding. Well, he _understood_ but he still didn’t _really_ understand. It wasn’t… what he was used to. At all.

He didn’t eat unless he was given food. That’s always the way it had been. Sometimes, when he’d done especially well serving his father he’d been allowed to eat at Azazel’s side. The demon would give him food, off of his own plate no less, and it was a great honor. But if he wasn’t given any food, then Dean didn’t eat. Period. To simply take food… even if he could, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to choke it down.

Dean looked down at the plates of food, then turned his eyes back to Sam and shook his head.

“I can’t.” 

* * *

"Well, we don't usually stand on that much ceremony in this house, but that's okay," Bobby said gruffly as he stood up. He picked up his plate and dished out a good helping of eggs and bacon and toast, and put a decent dollop of butter on the plate. Damned if he was going to butter the boy's toast for him too. Bobby knew enough of the way of things he figured he would 'get it' more readily than Sam who would probably stand there arguing with Dean while the food got cold. He picked up Dean's empty plate and slid the full plate in front of Dean.

"Now don't be thinking that's all you're getting for the next few days. We have two or three meals a day around here. You don't need to finish it all if you're full. Won't be any offense taken if you leave food on your plate. Rumsfield will happily finish off anything we don't eat. It that ain't enough, then there should be enough for a second helping, and I can always break open a couple more eggs."

Bobby filled his own plate with as much as he'd given Dean, then poured them all some orange juice.

"Sam, sit your butt down and don't give your brother any grief over it. That's the way he was reared and he's already dealing with a lot of things he ain't used to. Eat before your meal gets cold," Bobby said.

Sam had started to open his mouth, ready to try to talk some sense into his brother, but Bobby's firm words had him snapping his mouth closed and sitting down. As always, Bobby was right. Well, almost always. He just wanted Dean to be … normal. Or at least, he expected Dean to be normal, and that wasn't the case. And it wasn't going to be the case any time soon. Sam smiled at Dean. They'd get through this clash of their worlds.


	7. Chapter 7

  


After breakfast, as promised, while Sam began cleaning off the table, dumping the leftovers onto a plate for the dog patiently waiting at the door outside, Bobby led Dean around the house, giving him the "grand tour". Dean paid attention while the older hunter pointed out the various protections already in place around the house, impressed in spite of himself. Dean made a mental note where some extra protections he knew of could be useful, and of course the same blood runes he had placed in the church from before wouldn't hurt.

Again, while the older man showed him around the house, some of the books lining the shelves or in stacks on the floor had caught his eye and he had to admit he might take the older man up on his offer to thumb through them. Dean was also impressed by the older hunter's supply of herbs, not to mention the weapons cache. If they were attacked, they could probably defend themselves quite well for a while.... Though Dean admittedly hoped it wouldn't come to that.

By the time they were done with the tour and back in the kitchen Sam was done with the dishes and wiping his hands off on the towel. At Bobby's "suggestion" Dean grabbed a few of the things that were going down into the basement, and they followed the older man down there to the "panic room".

Dean honestly hadn't been sure what he'd been expecting, but his eyebrows rose in spite of himself when he saw where he and Sam would be staying. Demon proof, didn't even begin to cover it. There was hardly a supernatural thing Dean could think of that would be able to get through the solid iron walls and the protections surrounding the room. It would be virtually impenetrable to demons and spirits alike. There were an aray of weapons already inside the room. Cots, which he and Sam probably wouldn't be using anyway with the mattress they'd brought down with them. A large supply of salt in the corner, and there was even food and bottled water, enough to last a couple of weeks if need be.

"Impressive." Dean admitted aloud as he put down the supplies he'd been carrying on the floor. "This might be enough to contain our powers while I teach Sam."

* * *

Bobby grinned, pleased by Dean's reaction and pleased to hear the room might hide their powers. "When I stock up, I'll get some more supplies for down here. I rotate food and water out every couple months so what's down here already is pretty fresh. The stuff Sam and I bought, some of it I brought along for you two. The new coffee maker, the electric heater, and the small fridge. I thought you boys might like those small amenities. Right now the room is powered from the house's electricity, but there are backup generators and I even have a secondary solar back-up. Once I get the room fully stocked, if we had to, we could make it okay for up to two months, more if we stretched it. Depending when we got cut off from our water supply would be the deciding factor, but I got one water tank in through there that's probably got enough for near a month with careful use.

"The washer and dryer are in the basement proper when you need 'em. There's more supplies to be brought down, but they don't gotta come down right now. You boys slept on the drive. I didn't. I'm gonna shower and catch some sleep. You boys," he waved a hand, "do whatever you boys want to do. I'll shut the basement door on the way up. I'll fix up some dinner later tonight and give you a shout if you boys are still down here. I'll get some fresh towels in the guest bathroom for you, too. There's a toilet and sink out in the basement, behind the door beside the washer and dryer iffen you don't want to traipse upstairs just for that." Bobby paused and looked at the two young men. He fell silent for a moment, then muttered, "The first aid kit is in that cabinet. Make sure what you use gets replaced."

With that, Bobby turned and headed out into the basement and upstairs. He really hoped the basement door was going to be soundproof enough that he wouldn't hear a damned thing coming from downstairs. He could tell them to do what they wanted, but he didn't think he could handle hearing them doing what they wanted and he tried really hard not to think too much about it. He'd get drunk tonight after dinner, when he could rally, truly enjoy it. Or at least, really truly need it.

As Bobby turned and left, Sam went over to the cabinet and opened up the first aid kit. Grinning he pulled out the tube of KY jelly. He tossed it to Dean then opened up the box with the air mattress and plugged in the pump, watching as it filled.

"Grab the sheets," Sam said, waving to one of the bags they had brought down.

The mattress was filled in just a few minutes, and Sam used that time to get some of the things in the bags out and pushed out of the way. He knew his brother was watching his every move and he knowing those lustful eyes were on him had blood beginning to head southward. As soon as the mattress was filled—though it really could stand a bit more air, but Sam didn't think he could wait much longer.

Looking up at his brother from where he knelt by the mattress he said, "I think the shower can wait. We'll just have to take another one anyhow." He stood up and walked over to Dean and pulled his brother into his arms. "Seems I owe you a thank you." He pressed the start of his erection against his brother's groin, rubbing a little. "Anything you want, absolutely anything. Take me. Take me any way you want me. As many times as you want me. I'm yours."

Sam stared into his brother's eyes and waited for Dean to tell him what he wanted.

* * *

As impressed as he was as Bobby went on to explain the usefulness of the panic room and everything at their disposal, Dean was more than ready for the older hunter to leave when he did. His eyes followed Sam as his brother went over to the cupboard that Bobby had indicated had the first aid kit and returned the younger man’s grin as he easily caught the tube that his brother threw to him.

Sticking the tube in his back pocket Dean nodded as he went over to one of the bags, riffling through it until he found what his brother wanted, and dropped the sheets down next to the mattress filling with air. Dean didn’t bother to hide the hunger in his eyes as he watched the younger man. The hunger, the desire that had never really faded since the older man’s interruption earlier, had been simmering just underneath the surface and was now beginning to burn hot again.

Dean was all too happy to agree with the younger man that showers could wait, wrapping his arms around his brother when Sam pulled him in close. Sliding his hands down the length of the younger man’s back to kneed his brother’s firm ass, pulling Sam in even closer. Groaning in the back of his throat at his brother’s request. He certainly was not about to refuse.

He leaned in to brush his lips over the younger man’s so softly it was barely a touch at all. Drawing back when Sam tried to deepen the kiss, he swiped his tongue lightly over his brother’s lips, gentle licks, rubbing his lips back and forth, sucking on Sam’s lower lip almost carefully… teasing. The light touches gradually becoming firmer, longer, increased in intensity until he was practically crushing Sam’s lips with his own. The elder man’s tongue delving deeply into the warmth of his brother’s mouth. Stroking over the ridge of his teeth, the roof of his mouth, twining with his brother’s slick tongue, exploring every inch.

His hands were never idle on Sam’s flesh either. Stroking over the curve of his brother’s ass and up the younger man’s back. Over Sam’s shoulders and moving up his brother’s neck into his hair. Almost petting before moving back down along the same path. Only this time slipping underneath the waistband of Sam’s jeans.

“Take off your clothes. I want to touch and taste every inch of you…” Dean panted, nipping softly on the younger man’s lower lip. 

* * *

The touch of Dean's lips had Sam ready for more, but Dean pulled back. Dammit, Sam forgot Dean liked slow. He still made small sounds of frustration with every tease of Dean's lips and tongue. Dean's hands seemed everywhere on him as the drifted over Sam's skin. As Dean's kisses came more firmly, his touches came harder as well, kneading into his muscles. Sam was moaning into his mouth, pulling Dean closer, rubbing against him as Dean's attention grew in intensity. Sam pressed back into the hands that slipped under his jeans as his mouth welcomed Dean's tongue, enjoying every bit of Dean's exploration of his mouth as if Dean had never kissed him before.

Sam gave a small sound of complaint when Dean pulled away from their kiss. Never mind taking a breath was probably a good idea at that point, never mind Sam's lips were feeling a bit bruised.

Naked. He'd give Dean naked. Just the way Dean seemed to like it. Slowly.

He grinned at Dean as he stepped back and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, taking his time, showing Dean a bit more flesh with each un-done button. He saw the fire in his brother's eyes. Two could tease. He let his shirt slowly fall from his shoulders. He turned around, showing his brother his ass as he leaned over and untied his boots. He shifted back a little, letting his ass rub against Dean, using Dean as something to lean against as he pulled off each boot, each sock. Straightening, still with his back to his brother, he pulled free his belt, then grabbed Dean's hands and guided them to the button of his jeans.

"I seem to need a little help with this," Sam said innocently.

* * *

Dean couldn’t help but smile at the playful glint in his brother’s eyes as the younger man stepped back from him and proceeded to do as he asked. Teasing him, as he’d teased his brother before, with his slow movements unbuttoning his shirt. Each new patch of skin and muscle revealed as the shirt fell open making Dean’s mouth water, his hands itch, to taste and to touch. But he refused to reach out for Sam, to force him to go faster, letting his brother tease him.

A groan of approval broke from the elder man’s throat when the shirt finally slid off of the younger man’s shoulders, finally giving him an unobstructed view of Sam’s beautiful chest. He wanted to run his fingers over those pert nipples, feel them harden beneath his fingertips.

Dean groaned again, though the sound came out as almost a growl, when the younger man turned around. Giving him a clear view of his perfect ass encased in those jeans not to mention the long expanse of his muscled back.

When Sam pressed his ass back against his groin, Dean let his hands settle softly on the younger man’s waist. His thumbs brushing lightly at the soft skin just above the waistband of his jeans, his fingers splayed wide on Sam’s hips. He let one of his hands shift to slide down the length of his brother’s spine, barely touching the soft skin with his fingertips, before Sam straightened and caught his hand. Leading it around him to the button of his jeans.

“So I see.” Dean whispered as he pressed his lips to the warm flesh of the younger man’s shoulder. Sucking at the junction where Sam’s neck met his jaw as his fingers worked open the younger man’s fly and unzipped the tight denim. Hooking his thumbs into the jeans and Sam’s underwear he knelt as he pushed the material down Sam’s legs. Kissing his way down his brother’s back as he went.

His hands slid back up the younger man’s bare legs. His tongue flicking out to lap at the dimples at the small of Sam’s back. Licking down the crease of his brother’s ass as his hand’s settled on the younger man’s buttocks and parted his cheeks. 

* * *

A small moan escaped Sam as Dean's lips pressed against his neck and he tilted his head, giving his brother more access to it. When his jeans came open, he felt a fresh rush of blood to his cock, it seeming to know it would soon get attention. He wanted to take Dean's hand and slide it under the cloth to touch him, but this was Dean's gift. Whatever his brother wanted, he would give him.

He missed that mouth at his neck, but a trail of tingling followed as it began to travel down his spine. The cool air caressed his exposed groin in counterpoint to Dean's hot breath on his back. Sam trembled under the touch of Dean's hands on his muscles as Dean's tongue tasted and sampled his flesh. When that warm moist tongue slid between his cheeks, Sam groaned, excited by the thought of Dean's tongue caressing his hole again. He had enjoyed it more than he ever thought he might and was looking forward to it again and hoped that was on Dean's list of how to drive his brother crazy.

He leaned forward a little, pressing his buttocks in towards Dean, trying to give him better access. He lightly touched his own cock, a few gentle strokes as Dean worked lower, reaching where his hole was.

* * *

Dean moaned softly in approval when the younger man shifted back, pressing his buttocks eagerly closer to his mouth and the elder man wasted no time giving Sam what he wanted. Spreading his brother's cheeks wide and licking over the tight ring of muscles protecting his brother's entrance to his body. Loving the way they fluttered and clenched under his flickering tongue as he teased around Sam's hole. Dean alternated between using the flat of his tongue to swipe over the sensitive skin, and using the tip to lightly probe against his brother's entrance. Just lightly teasing at first, before pushing deeper, thrusting his tongue deep inside of the younger man's heat, fucking Sam with his tongue and tightening his grip on his brother's hips to steady him when his attentions started to affect Sam's balance.

He savored every one of his brother's reactions to his attention. Loving the beautiful moans and wanton groans he pulled from Sam's throat. Loving how they grew louder and more obscene as Dean went on, thrusting his tongue as deeply as he could into his lover's body. Perhaps a part of Dean hoping that the walls and basement door were not as soundproof as the older hunter upstairs would have liked, just a little payback for interrupting him and Sam before.

As much as he loved doing this for Sam, soon Dean realized he needed more. Needed to feel his brother's hands on him, wanting to taste his lips and swallow his moans, needed to free his aching cock from his jeans and bury it inside his brother's tight hot body. So Dean hardened himself against the younger man's protests as he pulled back. Steadying his brother with his hands as he panted hard, rubbing his palms along Sam's sweat dampened skin of his thighs.

Slowly Dean stood up, not sure which of him ached more right now, his knees or his trapped cock. Once he was standing he turned Sam around in his arms and pulled the younger man up flush against him. Loving the feel of his brother's naked body in his arms as he kissed the younger man hard, practically bruising Sam's already swollen lips, and sucking his brother's tongue in his mouth. His fingers drifting down Sam's back to play around the younger man's now slick wet hole.

"I wanna fuck you, Sammy. Wanna fuck you slow and deep, going to make you beg me to let you come." He panted against his brother's lips.

* * *

A ripple of pleasure shot through Sam as Dean's tongue began its slow tease. The light touches of the tip of Dean's tongue making Sam groan and try to press harder against his brother's mouth. When Dean finally began pushing that hot wet nub deeper, Sam's soft groans began to come louder. He began pushing back with each of Dean's tongue thrusts until Dean finally grabbed his hips and held him steady, but frustrating Sam at the same time.

Each hard thrust sent a shiver of pleasure through Sam and his moans grew in volume as Dean's tongue fucked him. His own erection had grown hard and precome was dripping from its tip and splashing to the floor.

And then Dean stopped.

"Oh, Jesus Dean," Sam panted, trying to push back to find that wonderful tongue again. "Please, don't stop," he begged. Dean's caressing hands left his thighs aflame and he wanted that touch on him, caressing his aching cock, or those fingers finding their way into his hole.

He felt Dean stand up behind him and turned readily into his brother's arms. Dean's mouth covered his own and he groaned loudly, pressing his erection against Dean, frustrated that he could feel nothing but rough fabric. He wanted to feel Dean's erection next to his, wanted to grind their groins together. Dean's kiss was hard and Sam found his tongue being tempting into Dean's mouth. He felt Dean's fingers teasing his hole again and he tried to press back against them but Dean held him tightly. He loved how Dean held him so close, needing him the way Sam needed Dean.

"Want you fuck me any way you want," Sam panted back, his hands going to the button of Dean's jeans, teasingly slipping his fingers between the waistband and Dean's flesh before finally opening the button. He slowly unzipped Dean's pants and pushed the pants and shorts partway down Dean's hips, his fingers reaching inside and pulling Dean's erection free. Brushing Dean's slit, he wet his fingers with the precome and ran those slick fingers down Dean's shaft.

Fastening his mouth back over Dean's, he first stepped out of his own jeans then guided Dean back toward the mattress. He slipped from Dean's grasp and sank to his knees, grasping Dean's cock as he licked its tip. He let his tongue dance around the slit, hungrily sampling Dean's taste. Sucking on the tip, he coaxed more precome out as he pushed Dean's jeans further down his legs. Dean's moans and small thrusts were gratifying, and he took Dean's shaft fully into his mouth. He kept it there, running his tongue around the hard shaft, occasionally bobbing his head, working on getting Dean harder as he wrapped his arms around Dean, letting his fingers run up and down Dena's crack, finding Dean's hole and rubbing it. He finally pulled his mouth off with a pop, licking his lips, then laid back on the mattress, his legs spread wide invitingly.

"Make me beg," he told Dean.

* * *

Dean moaned in approval when he felt Sam’s fingers slip into the waistband of his jeans, so close to where he wanted Sam’s touch, but his brother took his time opening up his pants and easing them down. His eyes never left his brother’s, remaining locked together, showing Sam all the love and lust he felt for him, as the younger man pushed his jeans and shorts down his hips. Those teasing fingers finally reaching inside to grasp his aching cock and ease him out. The cold air along his hot sensitive skin making him groan but Sam’s fingers quickly chased the chill away. Wrapping around and stroking his length.

Dean’s fingers came up to cup the back of the younger man’s neck, threading up into Sam’s soft hair as Sam’s lips covered his own. Moaning into his brother’s mouth and pushing his hips forward into the younger man’s grip as he let Sam guide him around.

He licked his lips to gain more of his brother’s taste when the younger man finally released his mouth only to sink to his knees in front of him. Dean let his fingers guide through his brother’s hair, petting gently and watching, unable to look away if his life depended on it as Sam’s swollen lips parted, his brother’s tongue darting out to flick teasingly over the tip of his cock.

Dean couldn’t stop his moans of pleasure or the way his hips thrust forward seeking more of that perfect sinful heat. The groan that escaped him when Sam finally took his cock all the way into his mouth, playing with his dick with his tongue and sucking, was nearly painful.

“Sammy…” Dean panted, stroking, petting Sam’s head as it bobbed over his cock, his hips thrusting forward, pushing his dick deeper and Sam took him all. Dean’s head fell back, his mouth open, when he felt his brother’s fingers slipping between the cheeks of his ass he shifted his lets apart to give Sam better access. Pleasure rippling over every nerve ending in his body as the younger man sucked on him and played his fingers around his hole.

When Sam pulled off of him it was almost Dean who was begging, for Sam to keep going, to let him fuck his mouth and fill up his throat with come. But as he watched his brother pull away, laying back on the mattress with his legs open in invitation Dean forced himself to control himself. Smiling down at the younger man he grabbed the tube out of his back pocket before he kicked off his own jeans and underwear and then pulled his shirt off over his head.

Dean knelt on the mattress between his brother’s legs, letting his hands glide over the surprisingly soft flesh of Sam’s outer thighs starting at the younger man’s knees and working up as he covered his brother’s body with his own. Kissing Sam’s chest, his neck, his chin, and sealing his lips over his brother’s with a moan as he let his cock press down against Sam’s. Their erections rubbing between their bodies as he rolled his hips and he tasted himself on the younger man’s lips and tongue.

Only when the need for air forced them apart did he reluctantly push himself up and away from his brother, resting a hand in the center of Sam’s chest to keep Sam there as he knelt once more between Sam’s legs. Dean opened up the tube of lube with his teeth and squeezed a good amount onto his fingers, slicking them up and warming it before taking Sam’s cock in his hand. Watching his brother lovingly, savoring Sam’s ever reaction, as he stroked his slick hand up and down the younger man’s hot length leisurely. Reaching lower and rolling Sam’s balls in his hand, lower still to trace his fingers around his brother’s already slick hole teasingly a few times. Letting his finger probe just inside the tight hot ring, before returning to play with the younger man’s cock, curling his fingers around the sensitive crown, and thumbing his brother’s leaking slit. 

* * *

Dean's smile was so full of love, so full of lust, that Sam felt his heart thump hard in his chest. That smile was all for him. Those feelings were only for him. He wanted Dean touching him, touching him anywhere. Sam's gaze turned hungry as Dean disrobed and he took in his brother's brutally scarred chest, his perfect body, the stiff hard erection that he had caused in Dean. He licked his lips, tasting his brother still.

A soft moan escaped him as Dean's touch came to rest on him. When Dean reached his thighs he pressed into that touch, opening himself even wider for the older man. The heat of Dean's attention was smoldering, the kisses leaving icy fire each place they were given as Dean worked his way up Sam's chest, blanketing him with his body. He savored each kiss and, eager for Dean to reach his mouth, when Dean moved to kiss him, he raised his head to meet Dean's mouth sooner. Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair as Sam groaned into his brother's mouth, welcoming in that searching tongue. The press of Dean's body, the flick of his tongue, the touch of his lips brought Sam's hands to slide down to caress Dean's muscular sides. When Dean pressed their erections together Sam groaned loudly into Dean's mouth, that groan condescending almost into a scream of pleasure as Dean rolled against him, and Sam bucked up in response. He wrapped his arms tightly around Dean, rubbing against him, precome slicking them both.

He didn't want to let Dean go but when Dean began to push himself up, Sam relented, his tongue running over his own swollen lips, keeping his brother's taste fresh in his mouth. He started to sit up, to chase after that hot mouth, but Dean's hand on his chest held him still.

How could anyone opening a tube with their teeth be so fucking erotic? But it was. When Dean began warming the lube in his hand, Sam's eyes watch in fascination, anticipating those fingers to descend to his hole. He reminded himself it would burn, but he also knew how good it would feel once Dean was inside of him rubbing that delicious spot he had never known he had. The tongue fucking had felt so damned good but he was definitely ready for more, for something bigger.

When his brother took Sam's cock in that lubed hand instead of moving to his ass, Sam arched and groaned and thrust up. Dean worked him slowly, Sam's hips snapping forward with each down stroke, a moan accompanying it. Just when he thought he was going to need to increase the pace or die, Dean let him go.

"Dean," Sam gasped, his cock aching for the pressure to return to it when Dean's fingers began kneading and toying with his full balls. Dean's hand held him firmly against the mattress, but when Sam reached for his own cock, desperate for the pressure to return, Dean slapped his hand away.

Sam thrust wantonly, moaning in near pain, fisting the sheets in his hands. "Need you to touch me," Sam murmured between his groans. "Oh fuck Dean. Touch my dick again."

When Dean delved lower still, leaving Sam's aching member all together, touching Sam's already sensitized hole, Sam tried to push against those teasing fingers. Caught between the need of his rock hard cock and desire to have Dean in him, Sam gripped the sheets tighter.

"Yes, oh, god, yes," he gasped as he thrust helplessly forward and then shoved back against those fingers, getting no satisfaction in either direction

Sam felt Dean's fingers push a little inside him and he struggled to relax, to let the probing finger enter him. Instead those fingers returned to his cock, making him buck and cry his brother's name loudly.

Dean playing with his crown and slit were worse than toying with his balls. The sensitive tip ached for stimulation while his shaft wanted Dean's hand wrapped tight. Or better yet, Dean's mouth. He writhed under Dean's patient attention his body coated with a sheen of sweat as whimpers spilled from his lips.

"Suck me off," Sam begged. "Need your mouth on me. Let me fuck your mouth."

* * *

Dean groaned softly at his brother’s plea as he leaned down over his brother’s lap, wasting no time giving Sam what he’d begged for. His fingers slid down and up the length of his brother’s hard shaft, stroking. Coaxing more precome to dribble from the younger man’s tip and he rubbed the head of the younger man’s dick across his lips. Making sure Sam was watching as he licked them clean with a moan.

Then Dean made a show of parting his wet lips, steadying the younger man’s cock in one hand, his other on the other man’s hip hip, and let Sam’s dick slide slowly into his mouth. He relaxed his hold on Sam’s hip as he relaxed his throat, taking his brother’s cock deeply into his mouth when the younger man bucked up.

He moaned greedily around the younger man’s length as he took it all, tightening his lips around his brother’s shaft and hollowing his cheeks as he sucked. Stroking with his tongue and playing with the tip on every upstroke before taking his brother deep in his throat again, humming in pleasure. Looking up at his brother, watching the younger man’s every reaction intently, savoring how beautiful Sam looked, watching every moan and cry of pleasure with lustful eyes through dark eyelashes.

As he let Sam fuck up into his mouth his fingers drifted lower once more to fondle the younger man’s sack and slide teasingly down and up the crack of his brother’s ass. Lingering longer and longer around his tight sensitive hole, circling and teasing, but never entering him fully, waiting for Sam as he had before. 

* * *

Sam nearly cried when he saw his brother lean down toward his cock, his hand still stimulating him. When Dean's lips touch his crown, rubbed over his slit, Sam groaned loudly. His eyes begged Dean to stop teasing him, but as he watched Dean lick the precome from his lips slowly, savoring it, Sam didn't think he had seen anything so fucking hot in all his life. Until Dean opened his mouth and descended on Sam's needy cock. So slow, so fucking slow, holding him so he couldn't push in. The bastard.

And then Dean's hand released his hips and all Sam thrust desperately hard into that hot silken mouth. Sam thought his eyes were going to roll back into this head as Dean sucked his dick, his lips wrapped tightly around him, his tongue, god, his tongue. When Dean began to hum, Sam's sounds of pleasure erupted. Dean took him so deeply, let him thrust all the way in, it was fucking unbelievable. The feel of Dean's throat swallowing him and the thought of his come shooting down that throat sent scorching heat through Sam. The sight of his brother leaning over his lap, watching him, the feel of Dean's fingers toying with his balls brought more moans to his lips. He wanted to come, he wanted to come so badly, and then he felt Dean's fingers at his hole, waiting patiently, circling, pressing, as if waiting for permission. He wasn't sure he could stand not coming at this point but he wanted Dean inside him, suddenly wanted that more than anything.

"Fuck me Dean," Sam managed to gasp between his moans, unable to make himself stop pushing into Dean's mouth.

* * *

Dean groaned at his brother’s words, his command, and there was nothing he wanted to do more than to give Sam exactly what he wanted. To force his dick into that tight hot hole and fuck his brother’s brains out, but he hadn’t even prepared Sam yet and the younger man was already at the edge. He could feel how tight Sam’s balls were, taste the come dripping liberally over his tongue down the back of his throat. He knew his brother was going to blow soon, and when he did, he wanted his dick inside of him so he could feel the younger man’s muscles clenching around him like a vice.

So Dean pulled his mouth off of the younger man’s cock, wrapping one hand firmly around the base of Sam’s dick and hardening himself to his brother’s desperate cries. Pushing not one, but two slick fingers into Sam’s hole as deeply as he could. Stretching the younger man with long purposeful strokes in and out while his other hand continued to apply pressure to keep Sam from coming while he curled his fingers and rubbed over Sam’s prostate.

Dean didn’t bother with the third finger as he would have normally liked, he didn’t think either of them were going to be able to wait that long. So he withdrew his fingers and grabbed the tube of lube again, squirting more into Sam’s hole and onto his cock, slicking himself up as much as possible and he pressed his dick to the younger man’s entrance. keeping his grip around the base of Sam’s cock as he began to push inside, straining not to simply ram home into that exquisite heat embracing him.

“I’ve got you, Sammy… relax, let me in and I’ll let you come…” 

* * *

Sam could feel the heat begin to pool, to coil. His sweet release, feeling his cock pulse in his brother's hot mouth, knowing his come was filling his brother's throat, was almost there. Just a few more deep thrusts, just a few more.

When Dean's mouth left him and cold air hit his wet and dripping cock, Sam cried out in pain and frustration. And then his brother took hold of his impossibly hard dick and for a brief moment Sam thought Dean was going to jerk him off. Why didn't he let Sam come in his mouth dammit? The fingers wrapped around the base of his cock.

_Jesus fucking Christ, no!_

"Dean," Sam begged, trying to thrust against that hand, trying to pull away from it. Anything to ease the agony of his full cock and too heavy balls. "I need to, let me come!" Sam cried, whimpering.

The two fingers that pushed inside him would have made him buck, hell would have made him blow, if Dean's hand wasn't wrapped so firmly around him and effectively kept him still. The burn of those invading fingers was nothing compared to the agony of needing to come. And then Dean hit that sweet spot. The sweat fairly poured off Sam as he thrust against those fingers, trying to find anything to help ease his desperation. He clawed at the sheets, moaning, begging, pleading as Dean scissored the muscle of his hole wider and wider. He barely felt the fingers leave him, his mind lost in the haze of the pleasure, of the pain, of what Dean was doing to him.

Dean would release him? He clung desperately to that thought and nodded his head. Anything. Anything, if his brother would just let his balls spew the spunk that pooled behind that iron grip. Relax. How the hell was he going to relax? He forced his ragged gasps to slow, forced his brain to kick back in to gear. It took everything in him to relax enough for Dean to begin to push inside.

Sam breaths came in gulps as he felt the stretching burn, as his balls continued to scream in pain, trying to find release.

"Let me come," he pleaded trying to push himself down on that cock but Dean wouldn't let him. He felt Dean's crown finally slide past that tight ring was was trying so hard to relax.

"Brother," he whined, "please, big brother, please..."

* * *

“Sam…” Dean panted, sweat dripping down his forehead and stinging his eyes, groaning in almost as much pain as Sam surely was as he finally pushed past that too tight ring of muscles. The head of his shaft barely breaching the younger man before he forced himself to stop again. He had to, or he would just lose control and start fucking Sam hard and fast, probably tearing him, and he wouldn’t risk hurting his brother that way, he simply wouldn’t.

The way Sam was begging him however was quickly snapping the fragile threads of his control. He knew he should simply pull out now, release his grip around his brother’s cock and stroke the younger man hard and fast, letting Sam come all over them both. But he needed to be inside of Sam. He needed it more than he needed to breathe right now.

So, even knowing he shouldn’t, he pushed his cock deeper into his brother’s body. Not as slow as he wanted, not slow at all in fact, and not stopping this time. As he buried himself home he finally released Sam’s cock, just as he’d promised. Grasping his brother’s hips and angling himself to thrust hard against Sam’s prostate at the same time.

He felt Sam’s muscles tightening around his cock, he felt Sam coming, but he didn’t stop. He fucked Sam with quick snaps of his hips, grunting and groaning as his brother clenched around him like a vice. Fucking his brother through his orgasm. 

* * *

Dean pushed in and stopped. Sam's head fell back as he moaned. "Please, please," he begged. It was sheer torture what his brother was doing to him. Dean had his dick gripped in his hand, so promising, so pleasurable, so painful. Dean's cock was just barely pushed in. So promising, so pleasurable, so painful. Dean held him on that unbelievable, indescribable edge of exquisite agony for what felt like an eternity, then suddenly Dean was fully in him.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. It felt so good, it hurt, it burned, but it felt so good.

And Dean finally released his cock. Sam had been held back for so long he didn't know how he was going to come without Dean finishing him. Dean grabbed him and shifted and Sam knew Dean was going to slide in and out of him, hitting that sweet spot again and again. His gaze came to rest on the beautiful man in front of him. His hair soaked, his muscular chest dripping with sweat, his hot, lustful eyes devouring Sam. Sam felt Dean inside him, felt Dean's sack pressed up firm against his ass, felt Dean's hands on his hips. He saw Dean's luscious swollen lips part, his tongue just barely lick at a drop of sweat. Sam moaned and felt his balls tighten, felt the heat burn in his balls. Dean had finished him without ever touching him.

He felt himself begin to clench around Dean's cock; he screamed Dean's name again when Dean began fucking him with sharp hard thrusts, hitting his prostate. The sudden orgasm tore through him more powerfully than he could have ever dreamed possible. His seed exploded from him in a fountain. Each thrust Dean made brought another wave of incredible orgasm. He screamed Dean's name over and over as ropes of come showered them. He could feel Dean getting ready to come and reached for Dean, wanting those lips on his when his brother reached his own orgasm and he was going to ride Dean through his orgasm pulling out all the stops, making sure Dean felt the same unbelievable feeling Sam was still feeling and that still had stars dancing in front of his eyes.

* * *

Every time his brother’s inner muscles contracted around his cock it pulled a deep moan of pleasure from him. Every hot splash of the younger man’s come hitting his stomach and chest burned like the sweetest fire dripping down his skin. Listening to Sam scream his name over and over with such pleasure was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard in his life. And when Sam finally pulled him down, devouring his lips and tasting every inch of his mouth while Dean fucked hard into the younger man’s body, Dean shouted his own pleasure into his brother’s mouth. His body convulsing hard as his seed filled up the younger man’s body in heavy hot spurts, leaking out over his cock and balls as he continued to move within Sam. As his brother continued to move under him, gripping him with his legs, pulling him in deeper, clenching around his cock, milking him as they both shuddered, lost in the throes of ecstasy.

Dean collapsed heavily on top of the younger man, his weight pinning Sam to the mattress, and his body racked so hard by the aftershocks of their joined pleasure he felt as though he were having a seizure. He panted hard against his brother’s lips, gasping for breath in between tasting the younger man’s mouth with his lips and twining their tongues together. Chasing each other back and forth into each other’s mouth.

The kisses gradually becoming longer, sweeter, softer, less desperate. His grip gentling on the younger man, stroking softly over sweat and come soaked flesh rather than clutching. Dean moaned low, the sound practically a purr as he slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. Looking down at the younger man with an expression nothing short of worship.

“I love you.” He whispered softly, almost as though he were afraid of the words, and a part of him was. 

* * *

He'd never known it could feel like this. He had loved Jessica deeply. She had loved him. They had experienced passionate intercourse that had them both sweating and gasping and screaming, but it paled next to this. It was a teenager's almost chaste first kiss. This, with Dean, shook him to his core, touching him in ways he never dreamed were possible.

When Dean lay on top of him, still in the throes of aftershocks, Sam barely gave him a chance to breathe as he kissed him. He wrapped himself around Dean and milked him as long as possible, his own aftershocks making him clench a little harder, slide a little more desperately on that cock buried inside of him.

They kissed each other so hard, there would surely be bruises, and nips at each others lips at some point had drawn blood, but Sam didn't care, fully immersed in making love to Dean.

Dean's cock, like his own, finely softened, just as their kisses did, but Sam kept his legs wrapped around Dean, kept Dean deeply inside him. He wasn't ready to lose that feeling, that oh so intimate connection. He shuddered under Dean's gentle caresses, the feeling of the sweat and come being spread by Dean's hands deeply erotic for him and making him moan into his brother's mouth in pleasure. He tried to pull Dean back down as Dean pushed himself up on his elbows.

The look in Dean's eyes, on his face, made Sam's breath catch. He had never seen such a look before. Hollywood had maybe portrayed it, but they didn't even come close to the reality of that soulful loving gaze he was now the recipient of.

Dean's soft words reverberated inside him and he thought the squeeze on his chest might just keep him from ever taking in another breath. He pulled Dean back down to him kissing him as if for the first time, as if for the final time. When he finally broke their kiss, he ran his hands over Dean's face, running his fingers through Dean's hair.

"I love you, Dean. More than anything," Sam said. He finally unwrapped his legs so Dean could pull out, so they could continue to kiss and touch one another and lie in each other's arms.

 

* * *

Dean sighed contently against Sam’s soft lips, savoring the tender touch of his brother’s mouth caressing his own. He smiled at the younger man’s soft touches to his face, hair, Sam’s words… more than the words themselves he could see the truth of them in his brother’s eyes when he drew back to look down at his brother again. Sam meant every word. More than anything…

Dean kissed the younger man softly one last time before he slowly eased himself out of his brother’s body. Taking an extra amount of care now, knowing Sam was probably sore because Dean had gone so fast. He would have felt guilty if not for the knowledge that Sam had experienced such pleasure from it.

Once he was out he shifted his weight to lay next to Sam, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s waist and drawing his brother as close as possible. Kissing him again, slowly, taking his time to taste his brother’s lips and mouth as carefully and thoroughly as Sam had him. His fingers gliding leisurely down the younger man’s side and over his hip, and back up, almost light enough to be ticklish.

“Alright, that was much better than a quickie.” Dean conceded, grinning as he drew invisible patterns through the sweat and come drying on his brother’s stomach. “Do you think we were loud enough?” 

* * *

The heat of Dean's body washed over him as Dean drew him close. He welcomed Dean's tongue into his mouth, stroking his own against Dean's, letting Dean brush over every inch of his mouth. Dean's caresses made Sam moan softly, loving every moment of being under Dean's hands. He returned the caresses, lightly scraping his nails down Dean's back and running his fingers over the firm curves of Dean's muscular ass before dragging his nails up Dean's backside.

Sam grinned back at Dean's words, agreeing that was a hell of a lot better than rubbing against each other in the back seat of the Impala would have been. Infinitely better. Dean's next statement practically made Sam choke and he felt his face flame bright red. Sam moaned and buried his face against Dean's chest.

"Oh, Jesus, I hope he didn't hear us," Sam stammered, aghast at the idea. How many times had he screamed Dean's name in passion? How loudly had he? Loud enough to be heard a half-mile away he feared. Sure Bobby had caught them making out in the back seat but for him to hear Sam screaming his brother's name, Bobby knowing full well that his brother was fucking Sam's light out only made Sam's blush deepen. How would he ever face the older man?

The tube of lube that lay near by, well used and a third empty caught Sam's eye. Bobby had told them where it was. He expected them to be having sex. Still, it was kind of like his Dad handing him a condom before he went out on a date. That was okay, but to bring home a girl and use that same condom and his father to hear her shouts was wrong. Just wrong.

* * *

Dean could feel the heat of Sam’s blush against his chest and he couldn’t help but laugh at the reaction. Letting his fingers glide up and down the length of his brother’s back, moving from the base of the younger man’s spine up to caress the soft hairs at the back of Sam’s neck.

He loved it whenever Sam blushed, he found it one of the most endearing things he’s ever seen. He loved the idea that his brother was so innocent and pure. Sweet and untouched, before Dean had made love to him. Perfect…

“Why? You don’t want him to think I’m a bad lover, do you?” Dean asked, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Sam’s head.

Dean let his fingers drift lower down Sam’s back, easily sliding between the younger man’s warm soft cheeks. Brushing lightly over his brother’s hot moist hole.

“If he didn’t hear you this time… I’ll just have to make you scream louder next time…”

* * *

Sam's skin tingled from the soft brush of his brother's fingers over his back and he sighed contentedly, his blush beginning to fade a little. If Dean could have seen his face, he would have seen Sam roll his eyes at Dean's jest.

Sam couldn't help but press back a little into Dean's finger. He was sore, was going to be sore, but Dean's touch sent a ripple of anticipation through him. With Dean's next comment, Sam lifted his still flushed face away from Dean's chest. He shoved Dean backwards, knocking him onto the mattress and then pinning Dean with his body spread over him.

"Maybe I'll make you scream this next time," Sam said, grinning. "Because I don't want him thinking I suck at making love either."

He suddenly wondered if Dean were ticklish. A lot of people weren't ticklish unless you caught them off guard and they were distracted or feeling good to begin with. Dean was at least the latter and maybe the former. Did Dean even know what being ticklish meant? He didn't have anything to lose and tried tickling his brother's sides, wanted so much to see Dean squirm to hear him laugh or even…giggle. 

* * *

A sound of surprise escaped Dean when Sam shoved him unexpectedly, and he couldn’t help grinning up at the younger man as his brother pinned him to the bed. Their bodies in perfect alignment, letting him feel every inch of Sam’s flesh pressing against his own.

“If you think you can…” Dean teased back, mischief in his eyes at Sam’s “threat” to make him scream this time. He was actually looking forward to the other man attempting it…

However Dean hadn’t been prepared for Sam’s particular “attack” and a bark of surprised laughter escaped him before he realized it. Looking up at his brother with wide eyes, he had no idea what Sam was doing. He didn’t even think to grab his brother’s hands before Sam got a better hold on him and started in on him earnest.

“What…” Dean tried to ask, confusion warring with amusement, and more laughter bubbled up from him and he couldn’t stop it. He squirmed underneath his brother, snorting, laughing, and giggling as he unsuccessfully tried to get a hold of Sam’s hands to stop him. Not that he wasn’t… enjoying… kind of… what Sam was doing, but he was getting a little out of breath, he was unsuccessful however. Whenever he managed to get a hold of Sam’s hands or arms the younger man would just switch his attack to a different part of him making Dean laugh harder and lose his grip.

“Sam!” Dean all but shrieked when his brother found a particularly sensitive spot on him, and soon he was laughing so hard he had tears running down his cheeks.

* * *

Dean jerked and the startled look on his face made Sam positively beam. His brother was definitely ticklish. Sam shifted his weight back and decided to find out every spot his big brother was ticklish in. The look of confusion on Dean's face was utterly priceless and positively endearing. He couldn't help but tickle more, laughing as hard as Dean, delightedly slipping free of his grip every time Dean managed to get a hold of him. He knew Dean just didn't quite grasp what Sam was doing to him and that made Sam laugh even harder because Dean simply didn't quite know how to defend himself against it.

Vaguely he recalled his father telling him about Dean and how ticklish Dean was, especially in the ribs right underneath his arms. Of course Dean was three or four and the time and what kid isn't ticklish? Still, it was worth testing. With an evil glint in his eyes, Sam focused a two handed attack on his brother, going for both spots on either side of Dean. Dean practically screamed like a girl. He was squirming and writhing and Sam finally had to stop, just to catch his own breath. He laughed at seeing the flushed, tear-streaked face of his big bad brother. His very ticklish, big bad brother.

He settled down beside Dean, grinning at him. "You are ticklish beyond ticklish," Sam said and laughed.

He threatened Dean with his hand, ready to tickle him again and laughed louder when Dean jerked back a little, trying to avoid his fingers. Even so, Dean's face was still alight with laughter, and god, his brother looked so beautiful and happy. He wanted that for his brother always and hoped that someday, when Dean was free of …Azazel… that Dean could be that happy and carefree. He snuggled up to his brother, ignoring the dried and drying come that covered them both. He wasn't ready to get up yet, and besides, neither of them were likely ready to go another round and when he got Dean in the shower…hopefully Bobby was out, because he fully intended to get Dean to shout his name. Loudly. And not by tickling him. Though that was awfully fun and might need to become an after-sex tradition. Fortunately he was not nearly as ticklish as his brother apparently was. He chuckled a little. He'd made Dean giggle. And scream like a girl. He was _so_ going to use that as ammunition against Dean at a later date.

* * *

Seeing Sam laughing, looking so happy (and far too pleased with himself) Dean decided it had all been worth it. Even though by the time the younger man was finished with him Dean was laying on the mattress gasping like a fish out of water with tears drying on his face. His face bright red, and his sides hurting from laughing so much.

Ticklish?

Of course he didn’t really understand what that meant, but obviously it had something to do with how Sam had made him laugh so damned hard. When the younger man moved to start again, Dean jerked and held his hands up in submission, he wasn’t at all ready to do that again, or he’d surely suffocate. Maybe he should try to return the favor…

But instead of tickling him again Sam merely laughed and then laid down next to him, and Dean let out an obvious sigh of relief. Still grinning like a fool through the whole thing and wrapping his arms tightly around the other man pressed snug against him.

“Thank you.” Dean finally whispered softly, brushing his lips softly over Sam’s forehead. Even Dean himself wasn’t sure exactly what he was thanking Sam for. Not just the sex, or the tickling. Maybe for making him feel genuinely happy for one of the first times in his life. 

* * *

Sam wondered what part of the most recent events Dean was thanking him for and decided he didn’t care. He loved the way Dean pulled him close, they way their bodies seemed to touch each other everywhere. He wrapped one leg over his brother's legs, pulling their groins closer, letting their flaccid cocks press against one another. He ignored the small pinch of pain coming from his ass. It was most definitely worth it.

He pulled back a little and stared into his brother's eyes. He could fall into those beautiful eyes and just drown. He wanted to. He wanted to forget he had some high-level demon after him, after them. He wanted to forget all the loss he had so recently suffered. Dean made him feel safe. How had it been such a short time ago that they had faced one another in the old mill as enemies and now they lay together as lovers? How had Sam discovered happiness in man's arms? He smiled a little. He had always felt safe in Dean's arms even as insubstantial as they had been. He had always felt happy, even though it seemed they often came to each other when the other was in pain, but he was always so happy to see his dream boy, to be able to comfort him or take comfort from him. It wasn't a stretch, not really, to have that relationship go the next step. Hell, if they had been able to earlier in their lives, Sam was certain they would have. He had never had any interest in men, but Dean, Dean was a special case. Their connection had surely existed because they were brothers, but they had never known that. That type of relationship wouldn't, couldn't ever develop between them. This relationship was the one that had grown. He didn't suppose his father would see it that way, but part of him knew he would choose his relationship with Dean over trying to rebuild a relationship with his father, if it came down to choosing between the two. He loved his father, but he _loved_ Dean. He was not going to give Dean up, not for anyone.

Sam pressed his lips against Dean's and kissed him slowly and thoroughly. He was honestly still kind of tired even though he had slept all the way here. The big breakfast, then the very very hot sex…he was ready to just curl up against Dean and go to sleep in his arms, come covered flesh and all.

* * *

It wasn’t long after he and Sam both slipped off into a relaxed, easy, slumber. Their bodies touching everywhere, pressed so close there was barely a way to tell where one of them ended and the next began. Tangled together, body and soul, and perfect… Dean allowed himself to sleep deeper than he had in a while. Feeling comforted and safe in a way that he wasn’t sure he’d ever known except with Sam. Even when the younger boy had come to him in his dreams, comforting and loving, there was always that lingering fear and despair knowing when he opened his eyes again Sam would be gone.

Now he knew when he opened his eyes, Sam would be here, with him, always. Always in his arms. Always loving him. Always needing him. Always…

Dean wasn’t sure how long he slept. Occasionally he thought he heard footsteps from the floor above, but he paid them no mind. By now he knew the sound of Bobby’s footfalls and the sound didn’t alarm him in the least. In fact, knowing the other hunter would do everything in his power to protect Sam, made him rest easier.

Eventually however he found himself waking. As peaceful and calm as he felt, and as much as he wanted to remain in Sam’s warm embrace, he couldn’t sleep forever. He didn’t want to even. While dreams of Sam were nice, they paled in comparison to the younger man in his arms. To what Sam could do to him, what the younger man could make him feel, when they were awake.

They were still a mess from when they’d made love earlier, come and sweat having dried on their skin a long time ago, but Dean didn’t care in the least. Moaning softly in his throat as he rubbed slowly against the younger man, his eyes remaining closed for the moment just to further savor the feel of Sam’s flesh against his own. Trailing his fingertips down the younger man’s back, over his ass, and along his thigh still wrapped around him. Letting his fingers delve into the warm crease of his buttocks, circling over his brother’s hole, still wet and stretched from earlier.

Smiling, Dean let his fingers slip inside the younger man’s body, pushing slow and deep, sliding in and out and coaxing pleasure from his brother’s sweet spot as he coaxed Sam awake. 

* * *

The smells of sweat and sex and …Dean…lingered. He felt so comfortable, so comforted, so safe. Dean would protect him with his life. He could sleep soundly and know nothing was going to get him, at least not without coming through Dean first. Memories of Jessica burning, imagined memories of his friend dying in the street, memories of his father's tortured body, they all tried to drag him into nightmares, but Dean stood between him and them, shielding him with his body, holding him close and whispering that he would protect Sam. And so, Sam slept peacefully, wrapped in Dean's love.

A part of him wasn't surprised when his dreams began to drift toward sex. He had been having some of the most intense sex of his life. He couldn't seem to get enough. He was fifteen again and practically giddy with love and hormones. Dean was pressing against him, rubbing against him, and kissing him furiously. Sam moaned into his lover's mouth as he pressed back, feeling his erection grow harder. He felt Dean in him, felt that sweet spot rubbed and caressed and excited and he pushed against it. It just wasn't deep enough, it wasn't full enough. He wanted more and whined a little. "Deeper," he moaned and rubbed his erection more insistently against his brother. Dean's tongue was licking his lips, wanting in and Sam was momentarily confused. When had they stopped kissing? Sam happily obliged anyhow, the veil of sleep slipping from him.

It wasn't just a dream. He was in Dean's arms, Dean was kissing him, was pressed up against him, had his fingers in Sam's hole and was sliding those evil fingers in and out. Shivers of pleasure shook Sam as his pushed against those fingers, as his cock slid by his brother's, as Dean's tongue roved his mouth, twining his tongue with Sam's. Sam moaned into his brother's mouth. The fingers just weren't enough. If Dean hadn't done it to wake him, hadn't caused Sam's mind to firmly attach itself to the idea of Dean fucking him, this would have been great, perfect even, but his body wanted more. He wanted more.

When they finally came up for air, Dean was still pumping Sam and Sam could feel Dean's exquisitely hard dick pushing against him.

"Not good enough, Baby," Sam whispered into his ear. He reached down and grabbed Dean's wrist, pulling those delicious fingers free of his ass, his sphincter immediately missing the slide of Dean's fingers. Furthering his discomfort he pushed away from Dean, but even so, grinned at him. He blinked, hunting for what he wanted and his sweeping gaze spotted the tube. He tossed it to Dean, then rolled over and got onto all fours, pointing his ass at Dean.

He had always loved doing the dog with Jessica. There was something just so…primitive, so empowering about doggy-style sex. Having her under him, thrusting into her, reaching around and grabbing and kneading her breasts, her ass pushing back against him. He loved it. He always loved it. Coming in her in that position, it was just so natural, so excellent.

He wagged his ass at Dean.

"Don't be a tease," Sam said glancing coyly over his shoulder at Dean. His dick was really complaining about the loss of pressure, and he really wanted Dean's hand jacking him off. He really wanted Dean inside him. "Fuck me already."

* * *

  
Dean was more than pleased by Sam’s reaction, even still half asleep the younger man was rubbing against him, moaning sweetly, and thrusting back onto the fingers penetrating him. He could feel Sam’s cock growing hard against his abdomen, and Sam’s insistent rutting was quickly coaxing his already half hard arousal to full.

Before Sam even had a chance to open his eyes, Dean pressed his mouth to his brother’s. Moaning in pleasure as he licked his way into the younger man’s mouth. Stroking inside and twining with that warm pliant tongue that returned his kisses a little sloppily at first, but the instant Sam finally woke, with much more precision and passion. Dean smiled against his brother’s mouth and groaned in approval.

He was still fucking his brother with his fingers slowly when they finally parted, panting for much needed air and Dean was still grinning. Though he arched an eyebrow when the first words out of Sam’s mouth was “not good enough”.

Dean reluctantly let Sam pull his fingers out of his warm tight body. Watching Sam closely as his brother searched for something and then laughing softly as he caught the tube thrown to him. Dean pushed himself up, wasting no time opening up the tube and coating his cock liberally as he watched Sam position himself. His eyes darkening with unmistakable lust as his brother got on his hands and knees and raised his ass invitingly to him.

He couldn’t help but laugh again at Sam’s saucy words and he smacked his brother’s ass playfully with the palm of his hand before getting behind the younger man and grabbing his hips. Spreading Sam’s cheeks wide, exposing his hole, and Dean pressed the head of his cock up against the tight ring of muscle.

“I’ll show you a tease.” Those words the only warning he gave his brother before he began pushing inside him, holding Sam’s hips in an iron grip to keep his brother still as he filled the younger man up slowly inch by torturous inch with his cock. Not stopping until his hips sat flushed against the younger man’s ass. His balls pressed up firmly against his brother’s. Then Dean rolled his hips, keeping himself buried as deep as possible inside the younger man. 

* * *

Dean's slap on his ass surprised Sam and he gave a startled yelp. "Hey!" he complained, but the smile never left his face. Trepidation filled Sam with Dean's 'threatening' words. Dean had about killed him teasing him last time until he begged and begged. Sam wasn't sure if he should be looking forward to another long tease or not. When Dean took hold of his hips it was certainly too late to rethink and escape, not that he actually wanted to.

As Dean pressed into him, Sam threw back his head, groaning. The burn, the pleasure, was filling him as his brother's cock entered slowly. Dean's grip was almost bruising and while Sam wanted to push back against Dean, Dean was obviously having none of that. Dean could have whatever he wanted. Time and again Dean had done everything Sam had asked him to. Dean had only to ask and he would do the same.

Dean's never stopped pushing in, but he kept it slow and Sam was still stretched enough the burn was much less than before. The constant pace felt so good and so different from the stop and go pace Dean had previously used. When he felt Dean reach his full depth, pushing as deeply inside Sam as he could, Sam moaned, wishing Dean would let his hips go so he could pump against his brother, so his brother's hard shaft could duplicate the motion of Dean's fingers. He resisted the urge to stroke himself even though Dean's actions had only hardened him more and he so needed pressure on his cock. He was almost ready to beg Dean to touch him, to stroke him in time to the pace he was surely about to start.

Sam was totally unprepared for the sensations that swept through him as Dean stayed in him but rolled his cock. The pressure against his prostate coming and going created sparkles in Sam's eyesight and he groaned so obscenely it would put the best porno star to shame. And still Dean held his hips. He finally couldn't stand it and had to begin stroking himself, precome practically drizzling from his slit like the moans spilling from his lips.

* * *

“I see you like that.” Dean chuckled softly, moaning low in his throat as he shifted his hips from side to side, savoring the feeling of his brother’s body stretching to accommodate him and squeezing him so tightly. He loved Sam’s reaction every time he rolled his hips, how his brother moaned and his inner muscles fluttered and tightened around him as he brushed against the younger man’s sweet spot over and over.

He watched intently, memorizing the curve of Sam’s back, how his muscles trembled from the strain as he held his brother still. He watched the beads of sweat forming on the younger man’s flushed skin, how it dampened and darkened the soft hair at the base of Sam’s neck. As his brother slowly come undone with pleasure.

It was perfect.

Sam was already so hard, so aroused, his cock was leaking profusely. Dean grinned, watching the younger man take himself in hand, watching him pleasure himself as Dean pleasured him from the inside. He was so beautiful.

Dean began to slowly draw out and push back into the younger man’s tight hole. Just small shallow movements, letting the head of his cock rub over and over Sam’s prostate as he rolled his hips, adding to the stimulation inside his brother. Dean leaned over the younger man’s back, brushing his lips over Sam’s shoulders, flicking his tongue out to taste his sweat, his pleasure, his love.

“How many times do you think I can make you come like this?” Dean breathed playfully into his brother’s ear, rolling his hips a little harder for emphasis. 

* * *

The sway of his brother's hips had him in throes of ecstasy and he felt dizzy with it. The sensations roared through him, tantalizing and teasing every nerve into fire. He couldn't have contained his moans if his life depended on it. And still Dean held his hips so he couldn't do anything to react physically to the overload of stimulus. Nothing but stroke himself, his unbelievably hard member throbbing painfully. He wanted to try to wait to come, to come along with Dean but the way Dean played him, he didn't think it was going to be possible.

Dean finally began to pull out, and Sam wasn't certain if he was relieved or frustrated, wanting Dean to begin to pump him, when Dean snapped his hips back in brushing that already sensitized spot. He wasn't sure how much more he could take, and then Dean began the small moves that had Sam making sounds he didn't know he could make. Sam really thought his eyes were going to roll back in his head and he was going to pass out when Dean began rolling and thrusting. He was beyond sensitized when he felt Dean's tongue on his back and he shook and writhed under Dean's care.

Dean's breath in his ear, his torturous words followed by that little extra push brought Sam's seed spilling from him a cry accompanying it. He was panting too hard to even hope to respond to his brother, but he knew Dean would be able to make him come as often as he was able to. He clutched his sphincter tight around Dean with every wave and spurt of his come.

* * *

Dean groaned low in his throat with every tight squeeze of his brother’s muscles around his cock, and he let one of his hands slip from the younger man’s hip to help caress and stroke Sam’s pulsing shaft. Coaxing every ripple of pleasure he could from Sam’s body as he continued those slow, torturous, movements in and out of his brother’s tight clenching hole. He rained soft loving kisses over the younger man’s shoulders and neck as he drew out Sam’s orgasm for as long as possible. Stilling his hand and his thrusts inside his brother only when he’d squeezed the last drop of come he could from the younger man’s cock.

“That’s one.” Dean panted softly into the younger man’s ear, trailing his fingers from Sam’s cock up the mess his brother had made over his stomach and chest. Pulling out of his brother’s body, he guided Sam down to the mattress, avoiding the new wet spot, so they were both lying on their sides. He pressed firmly up against the younger man’s back, easing Sam’s top leg up with a hand on his thigh, and positioned himself back against his brother’s hot slick hole. Dean pushed his cock back inside Sam with a long pleasured groan.

“Ready for two?” The elder man asked seriously as he started to fuck his brother again with short quick snaps of his hips.

* * *

Sam let Dean take over the milking of his cock, his body still shuddering with every pulse, with every thrust Dean made. The thrusting just drew out his orgasm and Sam was beginning to think Dean was trying to melt his brain so it could drain out right alongside everything else. When Dean stopped, finally, Sam thought he might collapse. God, what a way to wake up and start the day. He was drenched in both old and fresh sweat and come, and just as soon as his muscles stopped shaking and the aftershocks stopped washing through him, he was going to drag Dean upstairs to get them both showers.

Sam froze at Dean's panted words. Was he fucking nuts? Yeah, that was one. One helluva good fuck. Did Dean not see the ocean of come he'd just spew? He could not honestly think Sam was capable, this fast…okay, so they had gone a second round before, and Sam wouldn't mind, once he caught his breath a little. He was spent and it would take some time for him to be ready for a second one, but he could. Give him a few minutes and he could.

When Dean pulled out of him, he suddenly felt so empty. He wanted that connection with his brother, wanted to savor and embrace it for as long as possible. Yeah, yeah, he definitely wanted to go another round. He gratefully let Dean guide him to the mattress. His arms and legs felt like jell-o and the help was appreciated. Dean pressed against his back was nice. The older man could coax him back up and it would be good. Dean hadn't come yet, so he could return the favor. And he just might. With a vengeance.

He let Dean arrange his still sweating body any way he wanted. Cuddling sounded like a really good idea since he was still panting. He figured Dean would be reaching around soon to grab his dick and bring him slowly back up and ready for a second round. Dean liked it slow, after all.

Dean's cock pressed up against him and before he had a chance to say anything, Dean was pushing inside him and his groan matched that of his brother's. Dean's words barely registered before the man's rapid fire thrusts had Sam moaning again as the man's cock hit that sweet spot again and again.

"Oh, Jesus, fuck Dean," Sam gasped and couldn't help but push back against that thrusting shaft. He found Dean's hand and pushed it towards his dick. He hoped Dean wasn't going to make him beg because he didn't think his mouth could form words beyond "fuck-Dean-oh-God-Jesus-yes" in no particular order and intermixed with moans and groans of pleasure. His brain was beyond thought at that point. Probably because Dean had melted it into a puddle once already.

* * *

He knew Sam was still coming down from the high of his last orgasm. He knew all of his brother’s nerve endings were still on fire with pleasure. He knew the younger man was still almost too sensitive and he knew just how intense the feeling of his cock pounding that tight bundle of pleasure would feel. Sam’s reactions certainly did not disappoint him.

Dean smiled against the younger man’s neck and grasped his brother’s already swelling cock when Sam led him there. He stroked Sam in time with his quick sharp thrusts against his prostate, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of his brother’s body beautifully obscene and only turning him on even more. But Dean didn’t want this over with too soon. He didn’t want it to be just another orgasm rushing over on top of the first. He wanted Sam to savor it as he did. Giving his brother pleasure, feeling and hearing it, while denying his own an exquisite torture.

So as soon as Sam’s cock was hard in his hand Dean changed tactics. Drawing his cock out almost all the way of his brother, groaning at the loss of that exquisite heat wrapped around him but he didn’t thrust back inside no matter how much he wanted to. Letting go of his brother’s shaft to grasp his hip again Dean began to push the head of his cock in and out of the younger man’s hole, just far enough past the tight ring of muscles to tease before drawing out again. 

* * *

When Dean's hand fell onto his already returning erection, it was further overloading stimulus and Sam really was pretty much beyond thought. The quick hard thrusts that buried Dean again and again inside him, that simultaneous stroking of his cock, had Sam's hips moving in time with his brother's guidance, pushing back onto his brother's cock, thrusting forward into his brother's hand. Oh, he had no doubt he was going to come a second time, his balls already trying to gather themselves as his swelling cock grew stiffer and stiffer.

The sudden absence of Dean's heavy cock was painful and his hole clenched and unclenched, begging for the return of the thick shaft. And then Dean let go of his needy dick. The sensory overload was a twisting mess of the ultimate pleasure and most exquisite pain he had ever felt. Without Dean in him he felt on the edge but unsatisfied and the absence of Dean's come-covered hand working his shaft elevated that pain another notch. He couldn't beg, he could only moan and whine in frustration, his eyes squeezed shut as his hips still thrust back hunting for Dean's cock, and then thrust forward, searching for Dean's hand.

When Dean moved his hand back to his hip, Sam whimpered. The thought of Dean rolling his cock around inside him once again filling him with both ecstasy and anxiousness. Dean's iron grip held his hips firmly again and Sam tried thrusting in either direction but to no avail.

A relieved groan escaped him as he felt Dean's cock push back in. His own hand went down to his cock. Fuck Dean and his slow. The need was growing in him and though he didn't know how much he could possibly have left, his balls felt heavy and full. His eyes widened as the head of Dean's cock had barely passed his pulsing ring when Dean pulled back out. Sam's head fell back against Dean. He was putty in his brother's hands and he knew it. His body shook with the waves of pleasure/pain, he gasped and groaned with Dean's every thrust, and his hole was beyond control as it matched Dean, relaxing to let Dean back in, tightening, then relaxing again to let Dean out. He stroked himself trying to stroke faster than Dean's thrusts, to allow himself release, but his body wouldn't accept anything but Dean's pace and he whined his brother's name in frustration.  


* * *

“Oh god, Sammy… you’re so fucking hot like this…” Dean moaned in approval as he watched the younger man writhing and moaning and wordlessly begging for his cock, but he forced himself to keep teasing. No matter how much he ached to bury himself hard and deep inside his brother he wanted to savor this. He wanted to drive Sam insane with pleasure. He kissed along his brother’s neck and jaw, his fingers digging bruises into his hips as he watched the younger man’s hand flying furiously over his cock trying to make himself come again but Sam’s body was only obeying him. Sam wouldn’t come until he wanted him to, and he’d never seen anything so incredible in all of his life than Sam completely undone and desperate for the pleasure only Dean could give him.

When Dean simply couldn’t hold back his own desires any more he finally thrust hard, burying his cock all the way inside of Sam, hitting his prostate, but forced himself to pull out again slowly. Teasing Sam with just the head of his cock a few more times before he thrust deep again. Fucking his brother hard and deep a few more times, then changing to teasing him again, groaning out his own agonizing pleasure and need along with his brother. He’d held back so long himself he was in nearly as much painful pleasure as his brother.

“You’re so beautiful like this. You look so hot, your body begging for my cock. Love you, mine, come for me again, brother…” Dean whispered endearments and filth at the same time into his brother’s ear. He was fucking Sam hard and deep again and this time he didn’t stop. This time he couldn’t. He practically growled deep in his chest when he felt his orgasm approaching, Sam’s muscles squeezing so tight around him pulling it from him, and he all but screamed his brother’s name as he spilled inside of him. 

* * *

Dean's kisses were hot, moist accents to the pulsing pleasure that shook his body almost violently. He twisted his head to capture Dean's mouth, desperate to try to coax Dean into letting him come, to finish him. Dean took in Sam's tongue and sucked on it and it only made Sam shiver harder, stroke himself faster, but all without relief. His breath was panting gasps and begging whines. He tried desperately to push back but Dean's fingers just clamped down harder.

When Dean buried himself in Sam, hitting his prostate sharply, Sam convulsed in the start of orgasm, breaking the kiss. The excruciating slow pull out of his brother's dick held him at the edge of orgasm, Dean's small thrusting teases piling on sensation after sensation, but still he couldn't come. Dean teased him further with more deep thrusts and then shifting back to shallow ones just before Sam was able to reach release. He had never been held at the edge like this, not for so long. His heart was pounding, his muscles straining and tight, but still not reaching that last little crest that would push him into final ecstasy.

Dean's breath whispered in his ear and the emotional spike of Dean's words fueled him that much higher, coupled with Dean thrusting into him. Bringing him back to the cliff of orgasmic pleasure time and again. This time, though, this time he didn't stop. The sound of Dean's dick entering and leaving, Dean's gasps and moans, his tight grip on Sam's hips, all of these things twisted deeper inside him. He had been held so long at the edge his cock just locked up, refusing to release. Dean's deep moan, the increasing pace, the harder and harder thrusts finally reached through his haze. His spunk exploded free.

Orgasm after orgasm racked him, Dean's name on his lips, shouted as he writhed in the unbelievable waves of pleasure. As he released his seed his muscles contracted and he felt Dean's hot semen fill him as Dean cried his name and that only made the orgasms stronger. His tight hole clenched and unclenched around Dean's cock, unwilling to fully release Dean until everything had been milked from him and Sam's almost shattering orgasms finally subsided into strong and frequent aftershocks.

Sam struggled to think, struggled to form words. "Let's…stop…at…two…" he begged.

* * *

Dean panted hard against his brother’s sweat slicked skin. His arms wrapped tightly around Sam, holding the other man as close as possible through the tremors of pleasure that wracked both their bodies so hard he felt like they might just shatter. His heart pounded a punishing beat against his ribs and he could feel Sam’s matching the same rhythm against his chest. It was so intense, so incredibly intense. Every time they made love it only seemed to become more so. If this kept up he wasn’t sure if either of them were going to survive it. That thought almost made Dean chuckle, what a way to go...

When his brother breathlessly suggested they stop at two, Dean did laugh softly between panting breaths.

“Alright… this time…” He agreed softly as he fluttered soft kisses along the younger man’s shoulders, back, and neck. Taking his time to explore every inch of skin his lips could reach. His hands running soothingly up and down his brother’s sweat and come covered stomach and chest.

Sam was a delicious mess. The idea of running his tongue across his brother’s hot flesh licking away every trace of his spilled seed briefly entered Dean’s mind, but perhaps that was too much right now. Sam was utterly spent right now, and any more stimulation would only be painful rather than pleasurable.

“What do you want to do now?” Dean finally asked playfully. 

* * *

Sam loved the way Dean held him so tightly, as if Sam might just fade away if he didn't hold on tight enough. It made him feel so very loved. If that was too chick-flicky, so be it. He rested one hand on Dean's forearm, squeezing it gently in response to way Dean held him. If he had the energy he would twist his head and try to get Dean to kiss him, but he was exhausted. His brother was damned good at totally and completely wiping him out. He couldn't help but wonder if the sex between them was so amazing because they loved each other so damned much. Maybe too damned much.

He almost laughed at Dean's words, but a moment of trepidation gripped him. If Dean decided to make him come a third time—which after experiencing this, he knew his brother would absolutely be able to do--he would be a blithering mass of quivering flesh. His brother knew so many ways of making him feel good, was there any hope that he would ever be able to do anything to surprise Dean and make him feel the way Dean made him feel? In utter and complete awe of what his brother could do to him. He supposed it would tactless to ask Bobby to pick him up some of the absolute dirtiness gay porn he could find. Maybe one of them could offer him some ideas. There was always the internet. If it could be done, there were surely instructions on how to do it.

His hard pants began to slow as more time passed between each jolt of pleasure. Dean's kisses on his back seemed to ease the burn in his muscles and felt nice but almost too nice. He really hoped Dean was going to stop at two. He didn't think he could survive another round right now. In a few hours he was going to be lucky to be able to move and he was certainly going to be sore as hell. He was glad the hand running up and down his chest and abdomen was relaxing rather than stimulating. He felt like he had just finished a biathalon. Running his own fingers through his come and offer them to Dean to lick clean was tempting, but he did not want Dean to get aroused again.

Sam tilted his head back against his brother. How in hell could his brother still have so much apparent energy and be so full of mischief? Probably because Sam was the one that had thrashing around like a rag doll while Dean worked him into a frenzy. "I am a fucking mess. As soon as my brain remembers how to move my legs and I can walk, I think we ought to get a shower, and then food. Food would be good. After that? If I can stay awake, you probably ought to start showing me how to control these powers of mine. As attractive as it sounds, I don't think we can spend the rest of our lives fucking each other's brains out. At least, not to the exclusion of all else.  


* * *

When Sam tilted his head back against his shoulder, Dean pressed soft kisses to the younger man’s jaw and cheek. Humming soft sounds of approval at the younger man’s suggestions, a shower did sound very nice right now. Food sounded good as well, had to make sure that his brother kept his energy up, so that Sam could keep up with him. Especially if next time he wanted to make his brother come three times in a row…

Dean’s expression turned a little more serious when Sam suggested that after they ate, if his brother wasn’t too tuckered out, was to work on Dean teaching the younger man to control his powers. Dean agreed it was necessary, and probably long past time, they began such lessons if Sam’s loss of control at the church, followed not long after by the younger man attempting to use his powers to heal the priest was any indication. He would not allow Sam to be put in that kind of danger again. He needed to learn control over his powers before they tore Sam apart, or worse…

The elder man couldn’t help but chuckle softly at Sam’s choice of words, that they couldn’t spend the rest of their lives fucking each other’s brains out.

“Too bad.” He replied, kissing his brother one last time before he carefully started extracting himself, easing out of Sam’s tender hole slowly. Then he pushed himself up and gently rolled the boneless young man onto his back. Straddling his brother’s waist so he could look into the younger man’s eyes and pressing their spent cocks together, Dean leaned over Sam and kissed him softly.

“Next time, you’ll just have to fuck my brains out.” Dean whispered, caressing Sam’s face gently with his fingertips. 

* * *

Sam closed his eyes as Dean's kisses rain gently across his face. Dean's chuckle made him crack his eyes open. Well, it was the truth. Sam was almost certain if he picked through the puddles of drying and dried come there would be specks of his brain intermixed with it.

His breath hissed between his lips as the older man pulled his flaccid cock from his hole. Oh, definitely going to feel that for a few days. And that was going to suck because odds were he was going to be too sore for at least a day or more for such intimate interactions. He smiled a little. Dean probably knew all sorts of other ways to make Sam scream in delight. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing. He might learn all sorts of other creative ways for them to make love. He suspected he had barely scraped the surface of what they could do to each other.

Sam squawked a soft complaint when Dean made him move, though he definitely approved of Dean's new position. He moaned softly, feeling Dean's cock against his own. He was still coming down from the multiple orgasms and everything was still so sensitized. But he didn't want to encourage Dean. He could not go another round. No. Absolutely not. And if he had anything approaching strength left in him, he wouldn't be rubbing against Dean like a dog in heat. Yeah. Sure he wouldn't.

He knew Dean saw the lustful desire in his eyes. He also hoped Dean saw the exhaustion and took pity on him. He got the distinct impression he better appreciate that Dean only made him come twice. He wouldn't get such a break next time.

Sam's eyebrows practically crawled into his hairline. Him? Fuck Dean? He blinked, suddenly unsure. He … yeah, he wanted to…but he didn't begin to know how to do it right. He felt a blush creep up his face. Embarrassing hardly began to cover how he was going to feel when he had to ask Dean, like some sort of virgin girl, if he was doing it right, what he should do, and how could he do it better. He had a good teacher—hell, a fabulous, amazing, teacher. So he could…probably…do okay without too much guidance.

Dean's grin only made his blush deepen.

"Help me up, Jerk," Sam muttered, but couldn't resist bucking up against his brother as he knocked Dean's fingers away. He was a masochist he decided. A flat out masochist. Why did he keep teasing Dean in ways that only made him…hurt so fucking good.

No. Shower. Food. Sex…no, training. They had to start training him. Then they could eat again and…a small smile slipped onto his lips…he was going to try to fuck his brother's brains out. Yes, that sounded like a really good plan. Assuming he managed to stay awake that long...

* * *

Dean grinned at the expression of surprise on Sam’s face at his offer. It was positively adorable. He looked so unsure and that blush…

Dean almost thought to break his promise of not making his brother come again. He imagined working on the younger man to get Sam hard again right now so his brother could bury his cock in his ass. He imagined how big, how much his brother would stretch him when he filled him up. He imagined the look of pleasure on Sam’s face, the breathless moans, the flush staining his cheeks, and love in his eyes as Dean rode him until they were both screaming at the top of their lungs. He felt his cock twitch a little where it rested against the younger man’s, definitely interested…

He had a feeling Sam must have seen something in his eyes because then Sam pushed away his hand and ordered him to help him up.

_Later…_ Dean promised himself, laughing, though he couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped his lips as the younger man bucked underneath him sliding their cocks together. He responded by dragging his own oversensitive cock against his brother’s one last time before he slowly rose to his feet. He looked down at Sam, admiring the view, Sam always looked so beautiful when he was completely fucked out and covered in their mixed come.

Then Dean reached down to grasp his brother’s hand and haul the younger man carefully to his feet, making sure to be ready to help Sam in case his brother had any trouble. Dean knew how difficult it could be to stand and walk after being fucked so thoroughly, even if it wasn’t entirely painful.

“You Ok?” 

* * *

He deserved that little rub Dean gave him but the small moan slipped out of him anyway. The way Dean's gaze raked over him, admiring him, just worsened his blush. Why did every time Dean looked at him like that make him feel like it was the first time, like Dean was memorizing his body all over again?

He was glad Dean didn't just yank his to his feet. He was quite sure he would just topple over the other way and end up face first, his butt stuck up in the air. And he suspected Dean wouldn't be able to resist and then…he was very glad Dean helped him up slowly.

Sam wobbled a minute, regaining his balance. Satified he wasn't going to fall on his ass, he moved slowly toward their belongings by the wall.

"I'm okay," he assured his brother. "Just don't ask me to move real fast right now. No chasing me around the room or anything," he joked.

He had pulled out some fresh clothes and soap and shampoo…yesterday? He had no idea. He really wished now he had put them in a duffle, ready for use. He began stuffing those things he had set aside into an empty bag. He grinned remembering how they had been too anxious to even wait for the air mattress to reach full pressure. They would have to finish pumping it up when they came back down. He wondered briefly what time it was, but didn't care enough to look around for his watch or a clock. It didn’t really matter.

"Let's not push Bobby's good graces too far and go walking around nude up there," Sam said, pointing at the sheets that were…eww. "Uhm, wanna check to see if there are anymore sheets in one of these duffels? Or maybe some towels?"

* * *

Dean nodded, noting how carefully Sam moved but he seemed steady enough on his feet so he didn’t hover. Though he couldn’t help but grin again as Sam ordered him no chasing him around the room. Maybe he’d have to do that later too. Dean always did enjoy a good chase. The “catching” was always the most fun part too.

He nodded again when Sam told him to look for some more sheets and towels and went over to do that. Digging through the bags they’d brought down Dean pulled out mostly clothes, throwing them all into one pile. There were some other things he stacked a little more neatly like tooth brushes, combs, a shaving kit, deodorant, and plenty of socks and underwear. Near the bottom he pulled out a couple of towels. There was not another package of sheets however in either of the bags he went through.

“No sheets.” Dean said as he stood back up, tossing one of the towels to the younger man while he wrapped another around his own waist. Not that he really cared about walking around naked, or cared all that much about what Bobby might think of him walking around naked, he’d abide by Sam’s wishes and cover up when they went upstairs.

Dean stood over by the door of the panic room, watching his brother and waiting for the younger man so they could go upstairs for the shower that Sam mentioned. 

* * *

Sam saw his brother's grin at his joke and realized he shouldn't give his brother any help in idea department. Thankfully, it didn't look like Dean was going to follow through on the idea of chasing him, at least not right now. He looked over at the piles of items Dean had made. After catching the towel, he walked gingerly over to the items and scooped up the second shaving kit, a comb, and the tooth brushes. Bobby would have already stocked the bathroom with soap, towels, and toothpaste for them.

No more sheets. For they way they were going at it, they were going to need two pairs of clean sheets every day. That thought made him grin. He shoved the bag into his brother's free hand and wrapped the towel around his waist. He headed for the stairs, still walking slowly, his brother keeping an identical pace. He wondered wistfully how long it would take for him not to be sore every time they had sex. He took the stairs one step at a time.

"I feel like a little old man," Sam groused. He was glad when they reached the top of the stairs. Opening the door he peered out into the hallway. It was night time. Figuring it was early morning when they had reached Bobby's, ate breakfast, gone on the tour, and then ended up in the panic room…It was probably the same evening then. A radio blared fairly loudly in the den and he felt a light flush rise in his cheeks. There was no doubt why that radio was on. The basement wasn't soundproof. Maybe if they shut the door to the panic room, too, that might help.

He caught the lingering scent of food. Good, they could attack the leftovers after they showered. He didn't hear or see Bobby which was a good thing. Bobby was most probably in his den, doing research.

He led Dean into the bathroom. Bobby had indeed stocked the bathroom with everything they would need that they had not brought with them. He reached in and turned on the water, letting the water run over his fingers until the right water temperature was achieved.

"I had so many plans for our first shower together and now I think I'm too sexed out for any of them," Sam said with a sigh and tossed his towel aside. "Why don't you help your decrepit brother in the shower?"  


* * *

Dean followed his brother closely in case the younger man needed any help as Sam made his way slowly up the stairs. A part of him very sympathetic to how carefully Sam was moving, he didn’t enjoy seeing his brother in any kind of discomfort. Though another part of him couldn’t deny the small thrill of knowing why his brother was moving so carefully. Because only he had ever opened Sam up in that way, only he had ever thoroughly fucked the younger man, and it was only him that his brother would feel for days after they made love.

He grinned slightly and patted the younger man’s towel covered ass lightly. Sam might feel like an old man, but he certainly didn’t look like one right now, and Dean couldn’t deny he was enjoying the view. When they finally reached the first floor and Dean heard the loud radio coming from the other room he couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him. Judging by the volume of the radio, they’d been heard quite clearly by the older hunter, and remembering the look on Bobby’s face earlier when he’d caught them in the car, he couldn’t help be amused.

Sam was definitely a screamer… maybe he’d suggest to Bobby that he buy the younger man a gag when he went out to get supplies. It would be priceless just to see the older man’s reaction and just what shade of red Sam could possibly turn.

As soon as they reached the bathroom Dean stripped off his own towel and then shut and locked the bathroom door. The bathroom was small but not so small that they would constantly be bumping into each other. The shower itself might be a snug fit, but that was fine with Dean too. He watched as the younger man turned on the water in the shower and adjusted the temperature, and smiled when Sam asked for his “help”.

Dean wasted no time taking Sam up on his offer, walking over to the naked young man and wrapping an arm securely around his waist from behind. Supporting Sam so he wouldn’t slip as he got into the tub a little awkwardly and then drew the curtain closed. He turned his brother toward the warm spray of water, letting it cascade down Sam’s shoulders, chest, and abdomen as pressed himself firmly up against his brother’s back.

He stood there for a moment just like that, just holding Sam, enjoying the warmth of the water as Dean fluttered soft kisses up the younger man’s shoulder to his neck. Licking away a few stray droplets of water and sliding his hands up and down Sam’s stomach slowly. Rinsing away some of the mess there with just the water and his hands at first before he reached for the bar of soap.

Dean worked up a good lather in his hands before placing them on his brother’s skin and began soaping Sam, starting on the younger man’s chest and working down.

“Is this what you had in mind?” Dean asked softly, his lips lightly brushing the shell of Sam’s ear. 

* * *

Sam was beyond grateful for his brother's help into the shower. He wanted a shower so badly at this point and the warm water felt so very good. He leaned back into Dean with a sigh, letting his brother support some of his weight. His aching muscles definitely appreciated the heat as it soaked in. The feel of his brother's hands roving over his chest and stomach, the kisses on his back, that hot tongue licking his skin occasionally all felt so wonderful...

Shutting his eyes, he felt the relaxation begin to ooze through him. The feel of Dean's soapy hands washing over him was just heavenly.

Sam chuckled. "You promised you'd stop at two, Dude," Sam said, lightly elbowing his brother in the ribs.

He turned around in his brother's arms, picking up the bar of soap as he did. He ran the bar slowly over Dean's muscular chest, following after with his other hand and working the soap into a lather. He stepped back slightly so he could admire those muscles and watch the suds slide slowly down Dean's skin. He massaged the soap in, cleaning off their combined come and sweat and grinned, pleased by that thought. Theirs. He lingered over Dean's nipples, rubbing and massaging and giving the occasional twist.

After Dean's chest and stomach were clean, he moved his hands to Dean's sides, soaping up each up in turn, running his fingers down the rib one by one. Stepping aside, he watched as the spray of water rinsed over Dean's, revealing glistening skin beneath. Moving in closer, he brushed his lips across Dean's but instead of enticing him into a kiss, he began kissing a line down to Dean's jaw.

"No, this is more what I had in mind," Sam murmured, kissing further down until he placed his lips on Dean's neck and began to suck.

* * *

“You asked for my help.” Dean chuckled warmly in his brother’s ear at the “protest” and the elbow that he didn’t bother trying to dodge. When Sam turned around, he reluctantly loosened his hold around the younger man, and let his hands rest lightly on his brother’s hips. He stood still, his eyes roaming freely down the length of the younger man’s wet body and back up to his brother’s face. Smiling a little as Sam began to soap him up just as carefully as he had done. Small sounds of pleasure escaping his throat when the younger man’s fingers slid over his nipples, his body still sensitive enough from their recent love making that even the light teasing sent ripples of pleasure all the way through him.

When his brother slid closer to him, kissing his way down along his jaw and neck, Dean let his hands slide from the younger man’s hips to his buttocks. His eyes closing with a small groan of pleasure as he tilted his head to the side a little to give Sam better access.

“This is nice…” Dean agreed, squeezing the firm luscious cheeks in his hands lightly before reaching for the soap again. He began washing the younger man again, running the soap lightly over the skin of Sam’s buttocks and letting his other hand lather and caress his brother’s slick flesh. His soapy fingers delving gently between the younger man’s cheeks, cleaning around Sam’s hole tenderly. 

* * *

Sam grinned at his brother's sounds. Yeah, he was tired, but he felt just a little evil considering the way his brother had teased him and made him beg.  
  
He hissed softly at Dean's gentle fingers around his hole. He was definitely going to be tender for a while. Sucking on the older man's neck, he ran soapy hands over his brother's back. Once it was soaped up, he raked his nails back and forth across the skin, slowly turning them so so Dean's back was facing the spray of water. He bit harder and sucked more firmly, determinedly drawing up the mark he wanted to leave there. Once satisfied with his work, he moved his mouth to Dean's right nipple, sucking and playing with it with his tongue, liking how hardened under his mouth. He soon turned his attention to Dean's other nipple and worked on it while his soapy fingers played with the one his mouth had just abandoned. His free hand slid to Dean's lower back, cleaning and washing there, then dipping lower. His hand working Dean's nipple joined the first one on Dean's buttocks and he, teasingly returned the favor of running a soapy hand between the crease of Dean's ass, pausing and playing with Dean's hole as he himself went down on his knees.

He lathered up his hands and caressed the man's legs, taking a little extra time at his inner thighs, tilting his head up to see his brother's face. He kept his eyes locked with his brother's gaze as he opened his mouth and slowly licked up his brother's flaccid cock.

"You only got to come once," Sam said, mischief in his eyes.  


* * *

  


Dean’s breathing grew heavier as the pressure on his neck increased, his brother’s wet soapy fingers running over his body soothing and arousing at the same time. He hissed softly between his teeth when he felt the younger man bite down and rake his nails across his back. His cock definitely taking interest now, beginning to fill slowly, and his hips thrust forward almost against his will seeking more stimulation.

He let Sam maneuver him any way his brother wished, another soft groan slipping free from his lips when the younger man’s lips left his neck and attached to his nipple instead. His neck tingled, and he knew that his brother had left a mark there. That knowledge combined with the playful tongue and mouth sucking at his chest while Sam’s fingers teased his hole had him moaning loudly and muttering his brother’s name breathlessly.

When Sam dropped to his knees Dean opened his eyes to stare down at the beautiful young man. Sam’s threat, or promise, and the sight of his brother on his knees before him, ready to take him into his mouth making his cock twitch and thicken even though he’d already come. Dean groaned even louder as the hot wet tongue sliding along his length, reaching out to run his hands over the younger man’s shoulders and up to caress through his brother’s wet hair tenderly.

“Please…” Dean begged softly without hesitation. 

* * *

Sam grinned at Dean's needy plea. Oh no, he was not going to make this too easy. Dean was just lucky he had all but worn Sam out.

Sam ran his tongue up and down the slowly hardening shaft, occasionally wrapping his tongue around it as he did so. He watched Dean's face as he reached between his brother's legs and slid his finger up to the hole, playing around it as he licked Dean's cock. Shifting his other hand to the older man's groin he began fingering his brother's balls. Letting his tongue slide over the tip of Dean's dick, he flicked his tongue into the slit before going back to running his tongue and then his lips along the shaft, the sounds his brother making only encouraging his slow torture.

He began to press his soapy finger just slightly into Dean's hole, releasing the pressure each time before pushing through the tight ring of muscle. He switched positions of his hand and mouth, his mouth and tongue now nuzzling and sucking his brother's balls while his hand worked slowly along Dean's cock. He thumbed the slit and swirled the precome slowly around the crown before playing his fingers back down the member. Opening his mouth wide, he took both balls into this mouth and stroked them with his tongue as he gently sucked on them. His hand drifted from Dean's cock to his inner thigh and pushed his finger a little deeper into the man's hole. He wasn't going to give Dean what he wanted, what he needed, until he had to.

* * *

Dean groaned softly, his fingers tightening a little in Sam’s hair as his brother teased him slowly. Ignoring his pleading and taking his time, licking up and down his cock without taking him fully into that wet hot mouth the way he wanted. Not that ne could really complain because what Sam was doing to him felt so damned good.

He moaned softly when he felt his brother’s hands slide between his legs, fingering his hole and palming his balls, and Dean shifted his feet further apart to give his brother better access. Locking his knees so they wouldn’t give out on him as his brother expertly tortured him.

“Please…” Dean whispered and practically whimpered when he felt the younger man’s finger begin to breech his body. He relaxed his muscles with practiced ease, allowing Sam inside of him. He fought the urge to thrust his hips forward into his brother’s hand stroking his cock or back onto the finger penetrating him. Letting Sam set whatever pace he wanted.

His head fell back with a gasp as the younger man began sucking on his balls, the warm water washing over his head and shoulders and down his body almost like a caress in itself his body was so sensitized. Finally unable to stop himself he started trying to push back on his brother’s finger, trying to take more inside of him. Relaxing and tightening his muscles around the younger man’s finger exactly how he would around Sam’s cock when his brother finally fucked him. Fuck, he needed more…

“Please, Sam. More…

* * *

Feeling his brother's tight ring of muscle suddenly relax surprised Sam. Damn, he could barely do that and for his brother it was obviously second nature. There was no doubt in his mind his brother was extremely experienced but still, it amazed him. He pushed his finger in further as Dean pushed back against it. Stroking his brother's cock he felt how Dean practically milked his invading finger, relaxing and tightening. At that Sam's own cock began to take notice and he imagined Dean doing that around his own growing erection. Damn if his brother _wasn't_ going to make him come a third time.

Dean's plea echoing his own earlier in the day pulled a little sympathy from him and he pushed a second finger inside that opening. He couldn't believe how it felt. So different from a woman but how erotically stimulating. He groan at the sensations and slowly released his brother's balls, sliding his mouth immediately over to his brother's shaft, sucking on the side of it and working his way up to the tip, licking at it with his tongue as he moved. He pumped his fingers in and out of his brother's hole slowly.

The sounds of pleasure coming from his brother encouraged Sam and, hoping he was going to hit the right spot, he curled his fingers to brush the prostate just as he went fully down on Dean's cock. He knew immediately that he had hit the right spot from the older man's reaction. He pushed in a third finger at that point, pushing in his fingers as he pulled his mouth off Dean's shaft, and sliding his fingers out as he took Dean back deeply into his mouth. He realized that just as he had been at Dean's mercy, Dean's body was at his and what ever pace he set was the one his brother would be forced to endure. Revenge was sweet…

* * *

Dean moaned louder when he felt Sam’s second finger slide up into him, eagerly pushing back on the larger intrusion. His fingers continued to slide through the younger man’s wet hair, though he didn’t try to control his brother in any way. No matter how much he wanted to guide Sam’s mouth back up to his aching cock.

“Sam…” He panted the younger man’s name as his brother began to work his lips and tongue up the side of his shaft. Then he shouted loudly when he felt Sam’s fingers curl inside of him. Dean’s fingers grasped uncontrollably tight in his brother’s soft wet hair for a moment before he forced himself to release the younger man for fear of hurting him. One of his hands tried to find purchase on the wet tiled wall to support himself, the other gripping the plastic shower curtain almost tight enough to tear it.

“Oh fuck… fuck… Sammy!” Dean moaned like he was in pain when the younger man pushed a third finger into his stretched hole, but he was feeling anything but pain right now. Sam’s fingers sliding in and out of his body, his brother’s hot lips moving up and down his cock in counterpoint, was nothing but pleasure. It was fucking amazing. But it wasn’t enough… he needed more…

“Please Sam… more… harder…” He whimpered, trying to force himself back on his brother’s thrusting fingers but he just didn’t have the stability right now. His knees were weak with pleasure and he had nothing to hold onto. Dean reached up, wrapping his hands around the shower faucet, the water rushing down his arms and shoulders and he moaned louder as he tilted his head back into the spray, holding his breath until his lungs burned.

He imagined his wrists held in shackles. The warmth dripping down his arms, shoulders, back, and chest not water but blood. The lash marks along his back still burning with pain even as the rest of his body was thrumming with pleasure. Hours. He hadn’t been allowed to come for hours. Even the pleasure was pain now. Almost as much punishment as the whip on his back had been. It was like they canceled each other out. Enhanced each other. He didn’t know which was which anymore. Pleasure or pain. He wanted it to end. He wanted more. It didn’t matter which at this point.

“Please… please father… more…” Dean begged without thinking.  


* * *

  


Dean's pleas for more drove Sam to add his fourth finger, sliding them in and out harder as he began to pick up the pace. Every sound Dean made just made his own cock harder and he didn't doubt he would come probably right alongside Dean. His brother was trying to kill him. Okay, so he started this one, but still.

When Dean steadied himself with the shower head, the water cascading down Dean's chest rained over Sam and it felt so damned good and so damned right.

And then Dean begged one more time and Sam froze. _Father?_ That demon bastard was the reason Dean was so…experienced? Sam felt the fury try to erupt in him but he battened it down, he forced it to do what he wanted. Dean was _his_. Not that bastard's. _His_.

Dean had wanted him inside him. The one place he hadn't been to claim as his own. The one place that demon bastard obviously had been. Sam wrapped his power around Dean, claiming him. He would not be a flare to draw their attention. He called to Dean's own power. He knew he had poor control so he let the tendrils of Dean's power blanket and control his own, keep it wrapped like a blanket, like a net around just them. Their powers were one. They were one. He soaped his own hard cock, watching hungrily as Dean thrust, obviously wanting Sam's mouth back on him, his fingers back inside him. He pulled Dean's arms down and turned him around.

"You're mine," Sam whispered into Dean's ear as he began pressing his cock against Dean's hole.

* * *

When the mouth and fingers suddenly left him Dean whimpered and begged pathetically for him not to stop. Please not to stop. He needed it so badly. He was so close… and then all of a sudden he felt the flare of power, of anger, and it snapped him out of the almost trance he’d unwillingly fallen into. The memory he hadn’t meant to recall, much less become trapped in, and Dean realized what he’d said, what he’d done…

No…

He remembered all too well what had happened the last time he had unthinkingly called Azazel “father” in front of Sam. How enraged the younger man had become. His fledgling powers feeding on that anger, practically consuming him. Fear erupted inside Dean, and he instinctively wrapped his own powers around the younger man, ready to try to contain Sam’s if he could to prevent his brother from losing control again. Not to mention practically giving off a signal flare to the demons that were looking for them where they were.

But Sam didn’t fight him like he had before. He felt his brother’s rage, his power, but it didn’t flare outwards, instead it wrapped around _him_ , twining with his own powers much like it had before till he barely knew where he stopped and his brother began in… possession… ownership… yes… he belonged to Sam, only Sam…

Dean groaned softly, his need having not dissipated in the least, maybe only have grown stronger in fact and he watched his brother with pleading eyes as the younger man stood. He let Sam turn him around, positioning him however he liked, resting his hands on the wet tiled wall to brace himself. Knowing he was going to need it.

“Yes…” Dean whispered, tilting his head back to rest on Sam’s shoulder and pushing his hips back when he felt the head of his brother’s cock press against the entrance to his body. Dean relaxed his muscles completely, allowing the younger man inside of him. Wanting, needing, Sam inside of him. Filling him. Fucking him. Claiming him. Owning him. His brother, his lover, his master… “Sam…”

* * *

Dean's head falling back onto his shoulder drove Sam to run his hands possessively over his brother's muscular chest before dropping his hands to Dean's hips. Dean pushing against his cock sent a fresh pulse of blood to his already engorged member. He felt the muscle relax and Sam pushed in, groaning at the feel as his cock pushed through that relaxed ring of muscle. He made himself go slowly, just as his brother had done for him, but he could tell Dean didn't need the excruciatingly slow progress that he needed. Dean was much more stretched, much more ready to envelope him, and that only infuriated him more. Azazel had used his brother, had called himself 'father' and fucked him. Taken something that wasn't his right to take. A little voice in Sam's head reminded him that Dean was his _brother_ , but Sam slapped that thought away. Dean was his friend and lover. They were brothers by blood, but blood only.

The further he pushed into Dean the more exquisite it felt.

"Dean…God, you feel so good," Sam groaned. When he was finally buried balls deep in his lover, he ran his hands everywhere over Dean, claiming every part he could reach as he nibbled at Dean's ear, flicking his tongue in. He reached down to Dean's cock and slowly stroked it. His anger still flowed in him but every sound his brother made sucked that anger away. Sam was inside Dean now. He held Dean in his hands. He nipped at Dean's jaw and when Dean turned his head he crushed his mouth against his brother's, pushing his tongue in deep. He possessed everything and he would keep it all. He stroked Dean's body with his power, trusting Dean to help guide him, stroking Dean's body as he stroked Dean's member. He pulled out of Dean a little and snapped his hips back in, burying himself deeply again.

* * *

Dean moaned long and low in his throat at the feeling of Sam’s hands caressing over his chest and the younger man’s cock slowly filling him up. He relaxed himself until his brother was completely inside of him and then tightened around the younger man, squeezing Sam’s dick within him tightly, and “good” didn’t even begin to describe how it felt. Amazing. Right. Perfect.

“Yes…” He whispered, sighing softly at the feeling of Sam’s hands moving over every inch of his skin possessively. His sounds of pleasure growing steadily louder as the younger man’s hand wrapped around his own hard and leaking flesh and began to stroke him, coaxing out more drops of precome that were almost immediately rinsed away by the warm water cascading over them both.

The feeling of Sam’s powers traveling over his body felt much like the water only more. It was reminiscent of when he and Sam had merely been ghosts to each other and all they had were those barely there touches, no warmth, just the slightest pressure, but it was so much more now. There was definitely warmth and Sam’s power caressing him was like an extension of his hands, his body, his cock inside him. Dean easily guided Sam’s powers, showing him how to touch him the way he wanted, around him, inside of him, and almost smirked at the thought that occurred to him.

He hadn’t thought that his first lesson to Sam in the use of his powers would go quite like this.

Dean turned his head and groaned in pleasure and need as the younger man thrust his tongue into his mouth. He sucked on his brother’s tongue as he squeezed around Sam’s cock and Sam’s hand on him and his power around him was driving him to the edge so fast he was almost dizzy with pleasure.

“Sam!” the elder man gasped sharply as his brother suddenly began to move, sliding out and back into him, and he eagerly pushed back onto Sam’s cock and then thrust into the younger man’s hand. Relaxing to let Sam inside him and then tightening again when his brother was buried deep. Practically milking the younger man’s cock as he begged, “Oh god, yes… fuck me… fuck me, Sam. So good… please…”

* * *

The way Dean tightened around him when he was buried inside made him groan, made his anger fade as pleasure replaced it. Dean was giving him complete ownership of himself. Sam wanted to cut any remaining tendrils of Azazel's claim on his brother, wanted to mark Dean's soul as his, but he didn't know how. If Dean's soul was his, he could bring Dean into the light with him, though he knew 'the light' wasn't exactly where he was right now. His anger, though eased, was still writhing inside of him and knew it would so long as Azazel still came between them and controlled any action or any memory Dean conjured up.

The way Dean guided his power, showed him how to wield it, he barely grasped. His power kept trying to escape his control so he surrendered it completely to the man. He was the tool but Dean was the master. He felt it as Dean picked it up, hefted it, and wrapped it fully around them. His skin prickled as Dean caressed him with it now, as it now invaded him the way he invaded Dean. It was amazing and he groaned with every stroke.

He pulled out of Dean's hole a little again and snapped back in, Dean clenching down on him again and sending waves of pleasure rippling through him. Dean thrust into his hand, then back against his cock each time Sam moved inside him. He could feel Dean, so sensitized from their earlier sex growing nearer and nearer to coming.

That wasn't going to happen. He wanted this drawn out. He didn't want to come himself yet because when that happened they would be separated soon after that and he was not ready to give this up. His hand he kept ready to wrap tightly around the base of Dean's thick cock to keep Dean from coming. He pumped into his brother hard a half dozen times then stopped, sucking on Dean's neck, biting his shoulder, then ever so slowly drew in and out. His brother's clenching and unclenching around him felt unbelievable and it took a lot not to just fuck Dean hard and fast. But that would come. Right now he did as Dean had done to him. Teased him with alternating fast and slow speeds, stopping now and again, sometimes inside him, sometimes outside him, devouring every groan, every word that begged him. He found the elder man's prostate with his crown and made small little movements back and forth over it as he thumbed the tip of Dean's cock, mimicking the rubbing he was doing to Dean inside, feeling their power brushing over him, inside of him, a reflection of the what he was doing to Dean and how he was making Dean feel.

* * *

Sam was playing with his body like an instrument. Every touch, caress, kiss pulling louder and louder sound of pleasure from him. Dean gasped as his brother thrust inside of him with quick snaps of his hips. He moaned almost in pain when Sam teased him as he had teased his brother early with only the head of his cock breeching him. He panted and groaned as Sam rubbed deep inside him over his prostate over and over and teased the tip of his shaft at the same time. He whined when he felt himself getting closer and closer to coming, but Sam wouldn’t let him.

When Sam stopped kissing him or fucking him, or when he clamped his hand tightly around the base of his cock to keep him from spilling his seed, it was sheer torture. Exactly the kind that he had given his brother earlier and it was exquisite. Who would have thought that the younger man was such a fast learner?

But it was nothing that Dean had not endured before, denying himself, so he was able to give Sam what he wanted. Refusing to let himself find his pleasure until the younger man gave him permission to.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the wet tile between his hands, groaning obscenely as he pushed his ass back against his brother’s thrusts. Whispering and moaning Sam’s name over and over. Denying his own pleasure and concentrating on giving Sam all he could. Not because he had to, because he wanted to. 

* * *

Sam was panting and groaning with Dean. He knew he was reaching the point he just couldn't wait much longer. He still didn't want it to end but it had to. Especially seeing as how the hot water was beginning to grow a little less hot.

Burying himself deeply in Dean, he held himself there. Kissing Dean slowly he moaned into his brother's mouth as he took the time to feel everything, himself inside Dean with Dean clenched tightly around him, his hand holding that thick firm cock in his hand, his fingers slick with water and precome, his other hand holding Dean tightly against him, rock hard muscle beneath his touch, and his tongue tangling with his brother's. It was beyond anything Sam thought he would ever feel. It was lust, it was love, it was heaven.

Sam knew Dean was doing absolutely everything he could to make this perfect for Sam. As he had every time they made love, sacrificing his own desires, pushing aside any pain, just so Sam might be given that much more pleasure. He felt the dark anger in him fade and the golden touch of love replace those black tendrils of power.

Finally breaking their kiss Sam began to slowly pull out, then slowly push in, stroking Dean's cock in counterpoint as he had before. Each thrust was just a little faster, a little harder until he reached the speed he wanted, fucking Dean hard and fast, groaning his brother's name again and again. He felt the heat, felt his balls tighten and with a final deep thrust, felt his spunk fill his brother, his brother's name on his lips as the pleasure washed through him like the water that washed over them.  


* * *

When Sam buried his big thick cock fully inside of him Dean couldn’t help but arch and moan at the exquisite feel of him. Turning his head at the younger man’s nuzzling and accepting the deep kiss his brother gave him greedily. Moaning loudly into the younger man’s mouth as their tongues danced together. Sam’s arms around him, holding him so tightly, holding his cock, and pulling him so tightly against his brother that not even the water raining down on them could come between them.

“Sam…” He whispered the younger man’s name almost in awe when Sam finally released his lips long enough for him to draw breath. Dean felt the change in his brother’s power, and it stunned him as much as the first time he felt it. He’d never seen anything like it, never felt anything like it. It was… beautiful… pure… like nearly everything about Sam.

He wouldn’t allow anything to tarnish this, to taint it, not Azazel, not anything. He was already tainted but he would never let the same thing happen to Sam. It was wrong. Even if he didn’t love Sam with all his heart he still knew it would be wrong. He wouldn’t allow anything to ever hurt Sam. He’d protect the younger man till his dying breath.

Finally Sam began moving inside of him again, Dean’s moans increasing in volume as his brother’s pace increased. Even though the younger man wasn’t gripping his cock to keep him from coming Dean still held back his release. Wanting to give pleasure to his brother first. Needing to.

“Sam!” He shouted the younger man’s name loudly when he finally felt the hot rush of Sam’s seed spill deeply inside of him. Coming right along with his brother, shuddering in the younger man’s arms, and barely able to keep his legs from giving out beneath him and sending them both crashing to the floor from the intensity of it all.

* * *

He felt his brother's orgasm even through his own, feeling it as Dean clenched around his spewing cock. He could feel Dean's steaming spunk coat the arm he had around Dean's waist and damned if that didn't send a fresh wave of pleasure through him. Sam gave small little thrusts with every pulse of ecstasy, his and Dean's aftershocks seeming to adjust until the pulses of pleasure were simultaneous, were one. Sam continued to milk Dean's cock as Dean's tight muscle milked his with every small thrust he made.

When the aftershocks finally stopped Sam was still panting heavily into Dean's ear and his whole body felt like jelly, like he could sleep for two days straight, but it had been worth it. He nuzzled Dean and as soon as Dean turned his head, he captured his brother's mouth, having to gasp frequently in between teasing Dean's mouth with his tongue just to get enough air. His heart was still pounding but was beginning to slow a little. Sam rocked his hips a little, thrusting a little, moving side to side a little, wishing he had the stamina and the ability to fuck Dean all over again. As it was, he didn't think he had come three times in one day so close together since he was sixteen or seventeen. Yeah, Cassandra Miller. She had been utterly amazing and had always been able to pull a third one out of him but she didn't hold a candle to the man he was now inside, the man he held tightly against his body.

When there was finally nothing left, nothing at all, Sam eased himself out of his brother, feeling his seed spill out and that was just so damned hot in a way he couldn't explain. Sam turned Dean around to face him, staring at that exquisite face that was still flushed, his breath still panting like Sam's own. His gaze drifted down the older man's body, some remains of Dean's spunk not yet washed away and he ran his fingers lightly through it, watching as the water rinsed it into the drain below. Dean's cock hung flaccid now, just like Sam's own. Sam ran his hand along Dean's side then returned his gaze to Dean's face.

"You are so damned beautiful, Dean. Everything about you is beautiful. Everything." Sam slid his arms under Dean's and pressed him back against the tile, kissing him passionately.

"I love you," Sam said when he finally broke their kiss.  


* * *

Dean continued to moan as the pleasurable aftershocks continued to ripple through his body, encouraged by Sam’s continued gentle movements brushing deep inside of him, his brother’s hand on his cock, and the power that continued to swirl and caress around them. Though as the pleasure slowly began to fade from the heights it had been so did the power dissipate slowly.

He felt quite content where he was, pressed between the shower wall and the younger man’s firm body. His brother’s warm breath in his ear and the feeling of Sam’s pounding heartbeat against his back. His softening, but still thick, shaft buried snugly inside of him. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want it to end. And when he turned his head to meet the younger man’s lips with his own the slow, deep, sensual kisses they shared along with their breath was pure heaven.

Dean moaned and squeezed around his brother. One day soon he was going to have to make Sam hard this way while his brother was still buried inside of him. He would do it now, but he was afraid any more right now might just kill the younger man and he certainly didn’t want that.

Still he found his next moan as his brother carefully eased out of him tinged with complaint. However Sam more than made up for it when he turned him around to face his brother, looking at him like… he didn’t know, no one had ever looked at him that way except for Sam. He was glad that Sam found him beautiful. He was glad that he had pleased the younger man so much. He had never wanted to please anyone so much, not even his… Azazel…

Dean smiled into the next long slow kiss his brother gave him, and knew he was probably grinning like an idiot by Sam’s words when they parted.

“I love you.” He echoed, then his eyes turned a little mischievous. “I think your hunter friend knows how much I love you too.”

* * *

Sam groaned and buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck. Bobby definitely knew how much they loved each other at this point. The door between them and the rest of the house was anything but soundproof.

"You sure know how to kill a mood, Jerk," Sam said, lightly nipping at Dean's neck but still feeling the embarrassed flush to his face. How was he ever going to face the older hunter? That small voice in the back of his head asked the bigger question: how was he ever going to face his father? Quickly he buried that question and decided facing Bobby was the much preferred of the two to face.

Sam pushed back the shower curtain. He was so ready to just collapse, at least for a little while, but his stomach was reminding him it needed attention too. Stepping out, he picked up a towel and tossed it at his brother's face, knowing full well Dean's reflexes would surely keep it from smacking him upside the head. He decided after a moment that he was not going to teach his brother how to snap a wet towel. If his brother already knew, that was one thing, but he was not going to show him. He knew he would pay and pay often if he did.

He quickly dried himself off trying very hard not to be distracted by his brother's body. He was surprised how much he found he liked looking at Dean's chest and abs…and other parts. He recalled the times he had gone to Dean as Dean's dream boy. To find Dean naked wasn't uncommon and he blushed a little more to recall he had always found Dean desirable. He couldn't deny part of that was because he wanted to give Dean something to comfort him, to show Dean someone loved him. He also couldn't deny that there had been something more, something deeper. Maybe it was just their brotherly bond, but at this point he found it hard to imagine showing his love with just an innocent brotherly hug. If they had grown up together…he would give Dean up if he could turn back time and keep Dean at his side, keep him from ever being taken by Azazel, and have Dean as a brother instead of a lover. But since that wasn't going to happen, since that couldn't happen, then he would readily embrace their current relationship. He hoped someday Jim and Bobby and…his father…could deal. They were going to have to.

He began pulling on his clothes. "I'm starved. How about you?"

* * *

Dean couldn't help but laugh at Sam's reaction, calling him a jerk and feeling the heat of the younger man's face pressed against his neck. Maybe he was a jerk, but how easily he could make Sam blush with so little never failed to amuse him.

He honestly didn't understand why Sam cared so much when he said things like that. The older man already knew they were fucking after all. Bobby had also already _seen_ them in a rather compromising position earlier. Dean had understood the reasons why Sam didn't want them to know before, back at the church when the hunters had believed him to be a threat to Sam. Then if the hunters had known he and Sam were fucking they probably would have killed him. Now? Not only did they not see him as a threat to Sam but they already knew they were fucking, so yes, it confused him why Sam still got so flustered over it, but amused him far more than it confused him.

Reluctantly Dean released the younger man from his embrace when Sam began to pull away from him. He watched Sam get out of the shower slowly, but not asking for help as he had getting in so he knew he must be feeling at least a little less sore than before. He was glad of that.

Dean laughed again as he caught the towel that Sam threw at him. He dried himself off more slowly than the younger man did. Well aware of how his brother's eyes kept flickering over to him and again it pleased him that Sam enjoyed looking at him so much. He enjoyed looking at Sam as well, and didn't bother to hide his appreciation as Sam finished drying himself off and pulled on some loose jeans. Unfortunately covering up that perfect ass, but that ass certainly looked good in jeans as well.

"I could eat." He agreed as he got out of the tub and walked over to his brother under the pretense of getting his own clothes to put on. Though when he got close enough he slipped his hand easily underneath the waistband of Sam's jeans and cupped the warm curve of his brother's ass in his palm. "I see you're feeling better now. We're going to have to practice more with that."

He meant of course how Sam's power had changed near the end probably ended up healing his brother of his earlier soreness.

* * *

Sam was pulling on his t-shirt when he felt Dean's hand slide down his jeans and squeeze his ass. He gave a small yelp, surprised.

"Three, Dude. We are so stopping at three. Three for me. Two for you. Tonight at least. I practically just woke up and I'm already ready to crash for a few hours," he said, his voice muffled behind his t-shirt as he finished pulling it down. "And yeah, I, um, I'm up to practicing that," he said suddenly all embarrassed again, thinking Dean meant him fucking Dean. Dammit what was with all the sudden turning red at the slightest thought? And he had really enjoyed being the one doing the fucking. Aside from the whole Azazel bit and …no, no, no he wasn't going there. He was happy, Dean was with him, Dean was happy, and there was food in the kitchen just waiting for two fucked out twenty something year olds to devour the way they had been devouring each other. Hopefully with a little less mess.

He picked up the t-shirt he had brought up for Dean and shook it open, handing it to him, regretting those beautiful muscles were going to be hidden behind cloth and really wishing he had thought to get clothes smaller rather than larger for Dean. A tight t-shirt on his brother? Mmmm, delicious. Three, he reminded himself. The thought of even trying to come again almost making him shudder. He figured he would be whimpering when he was only half hard. He realized abruptly that Dean was right, he was feeling better…his powers. He had healed himself again. He definitely needed to learn how to use those powers. Of course, if he kept healing himself, he wasn't entirely certain he would ever stop being sore every time he had sex with Dean.

Sam nudged his brother toward the door and gave him a swat on the butt. "Food. Beer. Out there."

* * *

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the sound of surprise the younger man made and squeezed his ass again for good measure before reluctantly removing his hand from Sam’s jeans. Perhaps he was feeling a little more pleased than he should about the younger man’s implication that Dean had worn him out already. But he supposed Sam was right. He didn’t want to kill the poor boy after all, so he should probably let Sam rest. Though after they’d rested, that was a whole different story. Just the thought of waking Sam up by wrapping his lips around his brother’s cock and working his fingers into his ass trying to coax a fourth orgasm out of the younger man had him grinning at Sam just a tad evilly. Yes, he was definitely going to have to keep that in mind for later.

The way his brother was looking at him now made him wonder if similar thoughts weren’t going through Sam’s mind at the same time. However before he could tease the younger man about it, Sam was handing him a shirt and all but pushing him out the door. Dean laughed again a little at the smack on his ass and managed to get the t-shirt on over his head before he stopped and turned around to face Sam in the doorway.

“Alright, but you better give me some pants too unless you really want Bobby to have a show.” He pointed out with an amused smirk. 

* * *

Dean's smile told him that he better figure on another workout after he had gotten some rest. He was going to have to smack Dean upside the head with the fact that if Dean kept this pace up, he was always going to be too tired to start training. And if they kept making that sort of noise, Bobby might just toss them out on their ear. Maybe sex in the shower was a bad idea…

He glanced down and a fresh flush came to his face. "Uh, no, let's not give Bobby a show. He got enough of listening to us, I'm sure. Based upon the volume of the radio now, he definitely got an earful."

Sam grabbed the pair of jeans and shorts and handed them to his brother, trying to wait patiently while he put them on. His stomach was getting more and more insistent. As soon as Dean zipped up, Sam put his hands on Dean's hips and started walking him backwards toward the kitchen, grinning at him. As they passed the den and the source of the very loud radio, Sam yelled in, "Hey Bobby. Sorry for the noise."

Silently praying that Bobby wouldn't come out to talk to them, he turned Dean around so they could move to the kitchen faster. The smell of food—Bobby's meatloaf he thought—had his mouth fairly watering.

 

* * *

Dean had also noticed that the volume of the radio they’d heard from Bobby’s study earlier was much louder than before and he couldn’t help but chuckle again as he took his clothes from Sam and put them on. Sensing Sam’s growing impatience he didn’t waste any time and he was right since he barely had the chance to zip up his jeans before his brother was shoving him out the door.

He grinned at the younger man as he walked backwards, trusting Sam to lead him and keep him from knocking into anything. When Sam yelled as they passed by the older hunter’s study, that slightly evil amused glint returned to Dean’s eyes.

“It was all Sam’s idea!” He added before the younger man could shove him down the hallway.  
Looking over his shoulder at his brother and laughing again at the expression on Sam’s face.

“You’re cute when you blush.” Dean teased as he finally broke away from the younger man and sat down at one of the chairs at the table, waiting for Sam to get the food. His own stomach grumbling a little now that he took the time to pay attention to it.

He was getting soft. If he could get hungry like this after only a few hours…

* * *

Sam was still blushing when they reached the kitchen. Now he really hoped Bobby didn't come out. He was the one who had started it, after all. Not like he could deny it. Well, he could, but he sucked at lying to Bobby. Always had. Not that his freaking blush wouldn't just give it all away.

Opening the door to the fridge he grabbed a couple beers and set them on the counter. A plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas was already made up, with about twice the food…oh. Half of it was so he could give it to Dean. That was so fucked up.

He pulled off the aluminum foil and slid the overloaded plate in to the microwave then handed Dean a beer, twisting off the cap to his own and taking a long draught of it. He groaned when he heard movement in the other room.

Half a minute later Bobby walked in, crossing the old linoleum floor with a steady stride. He motioned Sam to move when he approached the counter. He reached into the cabinet above the counter and rummaged in it until he extracted a bottle of whiskey from it's messy depths.

"Keep it downstairs. You're acting like you're sixteen." He told them both, then turned a glare on Dean. "You're supposed to be teaching him control. Maybe the two of you ought to start showing some and get to work. No telling how much time we got." Bobby glanced back at Sam. "I'll need your list of supplies come morning. I'll make sure to get some KY for… the first aid kit, so you don't gotta put that on there."

"More sheets," Sam said after a moment of thought.

Bobby glared at him. "Son, I'm half drunk off my ass. You don't really 'xpect me to remember anything you tell me tonight, do you?"

"You'll remember everything I tell you. You could be fifteen sheets to the wind and still kick ass. I've seen you do it."

Bobby snorted. "Survival is one thing. A shopping list is something else."

* * *

Dean took the offered beer from Sam and twisted off the cap, taking a long pull from the cold bottle and sighed pleasantly. It was pretty good beer, not like some of the watered down piss he’d drank before. He had to admit, Bobby had pretty good taste. As he watched Sam stick the plate of food in the microwave, he had to admit, it smelled pretty good. Somehow he never would have pegged the grizzled old hunter as a decent cook, not that Dean was particularly picky, but still.

Hearing the older man walk in Dean turned his head slightly to look at Bobby and then back to Sam and couldn’t keep the smirk off his face at his brother’s definitely bright red complexion. Not that the older hunter acted like he noticed. In fact, aside from having Sam move the other man appeared as though he was going to ignore them completely.

Apparently not. Dean frowned a bit at the older man’s “scolding” but he couldn’t help being amused at the same time. The fact that he said anything about their activities at all meant that it had irritated the older man at the very least, and Dean couldn't help feeling pleased by that. Especially when it was so easy.

“See if you can find some cherry flavored. No wait, watermelon.” Dean piped in, completely unfazed by the hunter’s glare and grinning devilishly. “And I have been teaching him. Sam’s a quick learner, aren’t you, Sam?” 

* * *

Bobby knew he was going to have to suck it up. The boys were going to have sex often and loudly apparently. Maybe he could find a god damned gallon of the shit. And let's not forget the embarrassment of buying a shitload of lube for the brothers. Jesus. Brothers. Earplugs, commercial grade. Yeah. And blinders. Big fucking blinders. He would add those to the list.

At Dean's retort asking for cherry and watermelon flavored, he stopped, went back to the cabinet and pulled out a half bottle of chocolate syrup and tossed it to Dean. "Go to town. I just don't wanna hear it. Told you that before."

He pointedly ignored Dean's final comment. One glance at Sam and he almost laughed. He didn't know anyone could even turn that shade of red. At least Sam had the decency to be embarrassed. The kid looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. It seemed Dean was telling the truth that it was Sam's idea. John was just going to shit over the whole damned messed up situation. Well, he decided, it wasn't his job to tell the man. Hell, he hoped he was still alive when this was over. Hoped both the boys were too. Them being lovers was trivial compared to the very likely outcome.

Sam felt his face flush redder when Dean asked for flavored—flavored!—lube. A faster learner. Yeah, he always had been but…!

"Um, thanks Bobby. We'll try to be quieter," Sam said apologetically.

"Just shut the door to the panic room," Bobby grumbled. "That ought to be enough. I'll see if I can't get stuff to upgrade that shower downstairs…" he muttered.

"Thanks for making up a plate for us."

"I cooked, you wash," Bobby said, waving a hand at the dishes in the sink and pans on the counter.

"Sure thing," Sam said, glad they were finally moving on to safer subjects. The microwave beeped, and Sam, grateful for the distraction, focused everything on stirring the food about to make sure it was hot clear through.

Giving one more glance at Dean, Bobby told him, "I'd still like some lessons in that demon language." With that said, Bobby ambled back to his den.

Sam busied himself with running water for the dishes and then pulled out silverware for them both. When the microwave chimed, he carried the hot plate over to the table using some pot holders, and then retrieved a plate for Dean. He split the meal equally between them, opened his beer and sat down, wasting no time in digging in.

* * *

Though Dean had been hoping for a “bigger” reaction from the older man he couldn’t help but grin slightly when Bobby threw him the bottle of chocolate syrup. He honestly didn’t care if the hunter picked them up some flavored lube like he asked, he had only been trying to get a rise out of him, but he could _definitely_ think of many creative uses for the chocolate syrup Bobby definitely didn’t want to know about. He popped open the top of the bottle, squeezed a little of the chocolate onto his finger, and sucked it into his mouth. Oh yes, many uses.

Dean looked over to Sam as he pulled his finger out of his mouth with an almost obscene pop, but the suggestive look in his eyes was quickly replaced by amusement. If Sam turned any redder he’d be afraid that the younger man might just burst into flames, and that would be damned unfortunate.

Deciding he’d embarrassed his brother enough for the moment Dean remained quiet as the two hunters finished their discussion. Sam promised to be quiet… not if Dean could help it. The shower downstairs, that wasn’t such a bad idea considering after this convincing Sam to have sex again in the upstairs shower was going to take quite a bit of effort. Sam agreed to wash the dishes in the sink at the older hunter’s request. Dean rolled his eyes a little. Sam was such a good boy. Then surprisingly Bobby addressed him again, and here he thought Bobby would have much rather ignored his existence.

Teach Bobby how to speak the demons language… a day or two ago Dean would have laughed aloud and maybe even gutted the man where he stood for the sheer audacity of asking such an absurd request. Now… Dean wasn’t sure. To demons it would be considered an abomination to teach this meat suit the language of their god, Lucifer… and maybe that’s exactly why he should. Sam was his master now, not Azazel. If Sam wanted him to teach Bobby…

Thankfully the hunter didn’t seem to expect an answer now from him and left. Dean watched Sam moving around the kitchen then. Checking on their food, preparing to wash the dishes as he promised, and finally coming to the table with the food and giving Dean a portion. He waited for Sam to begin eating, and he followed suit. Though after a moment he paused and looked at his brother across the table.

“Do you want me to teach the hunter the demon language?” He asked.

* * *

Sam tried hard to ignore the bottle of chocolate syrup sitting on the table. He couldn't believe Bobby had actually given it to Dean. He flushed a little as his mind flashed on Dean drizzling the syrup over his chest and then licking it away and as he remembered Dean sucking on his chocolate covered finger. If he hadn't already come three times, his cock might be thinking about trying again. Dean could make him so hot with just simple little things. He refocused on his meal. Yeah, well…damn, Bobby didn't need to be giving Dean any ideas….but that meant Bobby was kind of dealing with it which pleased Sam. It would be a helluva lot less embarrassing since Bobby didn't seem to be getting pissy about it, other than to keep it downstairs. Even if he had, it wouldn't have mattered to Sam. We, it would have mattered, but it wouldn't change anything. And Bobby was really trying to show them both consideration about it. Sam wholeheartedly agreed with turning the shower downstairs into something more than a pathetic little stream of water. He enjoyed having sex with Dean in the shower, just like he figured he would. And cleanup was easy.

He looked up at his brother. "Bobby's a good hunter and a good scholar. It might help somewhere down the road. If you're willing to, then yeah. And you know, you can call him Bobby. Oh, save some room for dessert. There's an apple pie in the fridge. Probably some ice cream up in the freezer, too. You never had an ice cream shake before until I brought you one, had you? Have you ever had pie and ice cream?" Sam asked, suspecting he knew the answer.

* * *

Dean gave a slight nod when Sam confirmed that was what he wanted. Well, he didn’t say that exactly, he kind of hedged around it, telling him it might be “useful” in the future and how good a scholar Bobby was. Whatever, those things didn’t really matter to him. Sam could have simply said “yes” and he would have done it. What Sam wanted was all that mattered to Dean, and if the younger man wanted him to teach the older hunter then Dean would.

He went back to eating his food but when Sam asked him about the ice cream his brother had shared with him before and pie, he shook his head in a negative. No, he’d never had those things before. When he was a child of course he’d never been given those things, his food was normally very plain, if he ate it at all, or pretty disgusting if he was being punished. Though sometimes his father had fed him his scraps from his plate and that was a very rare honor.

After he had grown and had began going out into the world to do his father’s bidding he’d eaten more “normal” food he supposed. He usually stopped at diners or fast food restaurants occasionally. He had never been really picky about what he ordered from the menus, often asking for the special or picking anything at random. Deserts like ice cream and pie, he’d never even considered touching, maybe a part of him afraid that he would be punished for it if his father found out, so he’d never been tempted.

He knew what they were of course. Knew what a desert was, just like he knew what the chocolate syrup was. He just had never tasted for himself.

“And here I thought you were going to be the desert.” Dean teased, of course knowing Sam was far too spent to go another round with him any time soon but that didn’t mean he couldn’t leer. 

* * *

Sam was pleased Dean was willing to teach Bobby, though he wished Dean would be more animated in casual conversation. It seemed like all they talked about was 'work' or sex. The silence, at some level sort of unnerved him. 'Dean the enemy' seemed to be lurking just below the surface. He knew Dean would never hurt him, but it reminded him that the man across the table from him wasn't just some guy he was in a relationship with. (And that was still just a little bizarre to think about.) Dean was someone raised by demons. Someone who…wanted to be a demon. He hoped his brother had put that goal aside. He surely had, right? He was staying with Sam. There was no way this was a trick, that in reality he was simply seducing Sam. This whole thing happened because they had been friends all their lives.

How frightening was it for Dean to renounce his 'father?' Had he really? If Azazel knocked on the door, would Dean be strong enough to stand by Sam instead of returning to be the attack dog of that bastard demon? Sam wasn't really sure. Dean had been under its thumb all his life. He was trained, and as part of that training taught to fear the demon with every fiber in his body. The scars readily attested to that. Was his love strong enough to stand up to his fear?

Dean's negative to having tasted ice cream and dessert before yanked him out of his grimmer thoughts. If Bobby were in the room, Sam was certain he would be turning red again, but Bobby wasn't there. The look on Dean's face still almost made him blush. The sheer desire he saw in his brother's face made his heart simply skip a beat. That Dean wanted him so very much, he hadn't ever seen that look on anyone's face. Ever. And it amazed him when he did see it. He had seen the awe that crossed Dean's face sometimes and he really didn't think he deserved such adoration, but he didn't know how to protest it, or if he even should.

Sam shook his fork at his brother. "Three was almost enough to kill me. Don't even go there unless you want nothing left of me but a gooey puddle. You already melted my brain twice tonight. You need to start teaching me how to use my abilities." Sam speared some more meatloaf and ate it. After swallowing he swirled his fork around on his plate and asked hesitantly, "It feels dark when I use them. Except when it gets all gold. When you train me in them, will me using them…will it make me dark? Like they are? Not that it matters I guess. Either you teach me, or they catch me and the demon tries to make me use them. I'd just kind of like to know, if it's going to, you know, change me. And how much it might change me."

Sam already knew it didn't matter how much it changed him. He was going to have to master them if he was going to kill the bastard who stole his brother from him. Who did those terrible things to his brother. He would make sure Dean was no longer slave to anyone no matter what it cost him. He knew if he went all darkside, other hunters, his friends, his father, they would see that he didn't hurt anyone. They would make sure he…died. So long as Dean was safe and free, well, that was okay. Hopefully Dean would help their father continue to hunt evil. Maybe he should tell Dean his wishes, but he knew Dean would not accept Sam be willing to die for him. Dean would try to protect him, with his own life if necessary. Sam wasn't willing to pay that price. Ever.

* * *

The seductive look and grin he’d been giving his brother slipped off of Dean’s face immediately at the younger man’s gentle scolding and he nodded in understanding. Turning his attention back to his food and silently promising he would not make such gestures towards Sam in the future unless his brother first invited them. Of course Sam was right as well, it was past time he began teaching his brother how to control his powers. Dean had been letting his… feelings… get the better of him. Impairing his judgment… it would not happen again. He hoped that the younger man would forgive him for his negligence and overstepping his bounds, because he was still learning his place.

When Sam asked him about his powers and the darkness Dean looked up again and for a moment he wasn’t sure how to answer his brother, because he honestly did not know. Especially because he knew all too well what that darkness _could_ do to Sam, because he knew what it had done to him. He knew how it made him feel when he gave into his rage, his hate, and the powers answered feeding off of it.

Dark rapture, cold joy, seductive… it was so seductive. Dean remembered clearly the first time he had used them to literally rip a man apart. Confidence, pleasure, fulfilled, complete… what he was always meant to be. He remembered the look of pride on his father’s face, the praise Azazel had given him. Dean knew he was already corrupted, and he also knew if Sam gave into the dark pull of the power that his brother would be lost to him, and that could never happen. He would never allow it.

“The power feeds off anger, hatred, and fury. Anger makes the power strong and in turn the power makes those emotions grow stronger and more consuming. It is… seductive. First I was taught to give in to the rage, to let it fuel my power, and I became addicted to it like a drug. Then I was taught to control… it was difficult, painful… I wanted to lash out and destroy everything, but I couldn’t. It’s always there, just under the surface, but it is not released unless I wish it. You can never give into that anger.”

Dean paused and considered what else he could tell Sam about his power, especially when he didn’t even understand how he had felt it change those times before. How Sam had made his power heal instead of destroy. He had never seen, never felt anything like it. Dean could not do that. Sam’s power was not like his. Maybe it was simply because Sam was not like him?

“You are not like me. You haven’t had all the training. You will not become like me.” He finally said, hoping that would reassure the younger man. 

* * *

He saw Dean’s face abruptly change from lustful desire and become stoic, maybe even a little…fearful? Sam didn’t understand. He wasn’t admonishing the man. Well, okay, maybe he was just a tiny bit, but he had meant it teasingly. The truth was they had been at Bobby’s about a day and he felt recovered from the incidents at the church. As much as he would rather just stay in Dean’s arms, being held by him, being protected by him, the demons would find them eventually and Sam had to be ready if he was going to save his brother.

Anger. Hatred. Fury. Yes he felt all those things. They bubbled inside him. His life had been shattered. His brother had been taken and taught and kept from him. Without it all happening, though, he and Dean would not be together and he felt just a little ashamed that he wasn’t sure he would trade anything to make it the way it had been. He could not wish for it not to have happened because Dean meant so much very to him. He deeply missed Jessica and his friends but he didn’t even know if any had been left alive at this point. He could never go back to that life. He had tried living the ‘safe’ life, getting away from hunting and trying to find something approaching normal, something his father had never let him have.

As much as it galled him, it really sucked to know his father had been right all along. The training he had endured throughout his childhood had been necessary. He never should have gone off to Stanford. He had put everyone around him at risk and some had paid with their lives. Maybe all of them had. He didn’t want to know because that would only fuel his fury. He wondered if Dean being taken had also been his fault. His mother had died for him. His father, almost so more times than he cared to admit. Jessica, Mike…the guilt and shame were almost overwhelming. If only he had listened to his father. Even if he hadn’t wanted a normal life, craved it as much as the air he breathed, a normal life was now forever beyond his reach. He was a hunter and always would be. He would never put another unsuspecting soul at risk that way ever again.

Sam reached across and grasped Dean’s hand. “You’re not what Azazel made you any more either. We’re together. We’ll always be together. Maybe as you teach me, maybe I can help you more, too. I know you’ll keep me safe. I know you’ll do everything you can to keep me from walking a dark path. I have faith in you.” He gave Dean a loving, confident smile which slowly turned a little lustful. "Now stop looking so grim. Maybe I'll still have enough energy for you to teach me something new, after we get some training in. Or we can always practice what we have already done."

 

* * *

Dean offered his brother a slight smile that was definitely more for Sam’s sake than his own. It was easier than to deny the younger man’s words, that would only cause his brother pain and Dean didn’t want that. It might possibly only trigger more of the younger man’s, quite literally, explosive anger towards his demon father, and that was something the elder man definitely wanted to avoid, at least until he’d taught his brother better control over his powers. The truth was, unfortunately, that Sam was, had always been, wearing blinders on when it came to him. Dean was not all that different from the man that Sam had first faced in the old paper mill not so much as a week ago. Yes, many circumstances had changed, but _he_ hadn’t. Not really.

He was still a killer, he always would be. If push came to shove he would slit Bobby’s throat without a second thought. He did not give a damned about humanity and their plight. He only cared about Sam. The fact that he was willing to kill demons was nothing new. He’d killed many before, if they threatened him or his father, or Azazel commanded it. Sam was his master now, he loved Sam, always had, and he would defend his brother from any harm no matter who might try to cause it.

But he was not sure he could “change” for Sam. He wasn’t even sure what the younger man wanted him to change into. He was what he was. He would try to do what Sam wanted, he would try to please the younger man any way he could, but he wasn’t sure he could _be_ what Sam wanted. That frightened him more than a little, because once Sam realized it… what if he didn’t want Dean anymore…?

Sam’s faith in him frightened him…

Still Dean’s smile turned more genuine when Sam mentioned them going back to their “other lessons” once he had trained Sam in the use of his powers for a bit, if he had enough energy left. Dean chuckled softly at that.

“I doubt you will. But you can always just lie there and let me kiss and lick every inch of you…” Dean practically purred.


	8. Chapter 8

  


It was a freaking octopus. The damned thing had freaking tendrils going everywhere. Sam struggled to keep it under control but it seemed like the harder he tried, the more tendrils the dark powers grew. Frustration and anger began to wind themselves around him and as the anger and frustration grew, his control over his powers seemed to improve. A part of his mind latched on to that. Anger helps his control it. He had plenty of anger inside him. Old anger, new anger, unremembered anger burrowing its way to the surface. He was still having trouble though even with extracting that extra anger viciously from deep inside. He was becoming pissed, infuriated. God dammit he could do this!

The arms wrapping around his waist startled him. He felt the warm body press against him even as he felt the net draped over his writhing uncontrollable powers. Part of him cried no! and wanted to push that body away so he could continue to work with these powers. The venomous tendrils began to focus inward, ready to backlash on Sam as he wavered with indecision.

He felt the threat and didn't know how to stop it. It seemed if he tried to grab the reins, the power just side stepped him, coiling like a viper ready to strike. He felt the fear begin inside of him. He was going to get them both killed. His stupidity, his lack of control, his weakness was going to get them killed. The fear just seemed to make the powers grow stronger and he felt some of those tendrils begin to dig into him, try to envelope him. Each touch from those tentacles ignited pain and anger inside him.

Sam wrapped his hands around Dean's forearms, gripping them so tightly his knuckles were white and he was surely leaving bruises. His fear growing, Sam whispered to his brother, "What do I do? How do I stop it?"

* * *

They had been at it for nearly an hour now.

Back down in the basement in Bobby’s panic room, this time with the door to the room firmly closed and locked, Dean was giving Sam his first _real_ lesson in controlling his powers. He’d left the old hunter upstairs with a warning not to come downstairs or disturb them in any other way no matter what he might hear because Dean couldn’t guarantee his safety otherwise. The thick iron walls of the room lined with protective spells _should_ be enough to contain the flares of his brother’s uncontrollable power, but beyond that Dean couldn’t guarantee anything if the older man actually came inside the room at the wrong time. Especially because Sam was doing about as well as Dean had his first time trying to call upon his powers by will instead of instinct.

Which unfortunately was not very good at all.

Sam’s powers answered to his call very quickly, which was both a good and bad thing, because when they answered they it was usually with much more power than his brother could handle at one time. Like right now.

The tendrils of dark energy radiating from the younger man practically encased the entire room at this point. Dean walked around Sam, who was kneeling in the center of the room on the air mattress, untouched, while everything else in the room that wasn’t bolted down vibrated and shook violently. Unfortunately Dean had only asked Sam to try to make the book he’d placed on the floor in front of the younger man rise up a few inches. It had rose all right, straight up into the rotating fan above their heads. The ripped pages were still fluttering down and swirling around the room.

Dean could feel his brother’s frustration growing as he tried to regain control of the power on his own. He could feel his growing anger. The power obeying him about as well as a rabid dog growling and ready to strike back at his owner. He could feel his brother beginning to pull from that anger trying to force his power into submission, instead only feeding it, making it stronger, and that’s when Dean intervened.

He knelt down behind the younger man, wrapping his arms tightly around Sam’s waist. Using his physical body to help ground Sam as he wrapped his own power around the younger man’s much as he’d done the first time Sam had lost control back at the church. He could feel Sam’s fear now and he pressed a gentle kiss to the back of the younger man’s sweat slick neck, whispering into his ear.

“It’s all right. Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you. Nothing is going to hurt you.” Dean reassured, keeping his voice calm and even, not caring in the least the way his brother’s fingers bit into the flesh of his arms, especially if it helped the younger man focus upon him. “Close your eyes. Relax. Breathe with me. You can feel my heart, my breath. Focus on that. Remember, you are the master, not the power. It can’t do what you don’t want. Slowly, ease it back. Visualize it as a ball of string. You’re winding it up slowly. You might drop the ball but you can always pick it back up. Pull it back in. One tendril at a time. I won’t let it hurt you.”

* * *

Don't be afraid? Fuck. His powers were an angry beast ready rip him apart. Dean's calm words and light kiss to his neck made him slow down his breathing. He leaned back into those protective arms and tried to do as Dean told him to. He could tell Dean was keeping Sam's powers leashed, but he wasn't at all sure Dean could stop the powers from backlashing against them. When he had wielded them previously, they were sloppy, poorly aimed, but he never felt like they were going to…devour him. They were a big fucking club that he swung, not a bomb ready to go off, as they seemed to be now. He was just trying to lift the book. He had not known how much power it would take to do that so he popped the lid open, thinking only as much as he needed would come at his call. Instead of a squirt gun, he had a fucking water cannon and it was swinging about wildly, with Dean's firm grip on him the only reason it wasn't simply dragging Sam with it.

He closed his eyes as Dean instructed but the relaxing part wasn't easy. He struggled to get his breathing as slow as his brother's, felt the soft thump of Dean's heart against his back. He was the master. Yeah. Sure.

Focus. Master. He could master it. He could control it. Without him, it didn't even exist. He wasn't really sure how to ease it back when it was like a pissed off cat. Claws freaking everywhere. …String. Yeah, a zillion cans of silly string. That old cartoon of the scribble trying to woo the dot. The doodle was nothing but a big knot of lines. But it learned control. For love, it learned control. For Dean, to save Dean, he would learn control. Doggedly he grabbed a tendril and pulled it in, stuffing it back into the genie bottle. He grabbed another and felt it practically slam into him, making his head ring painfully. He felt Dean fight with it, struggle to hold it from attacking Sam. All it had really done was piss Sam off. A lot. He imagined a vacuum, a whirlpool, sucking all the darkness back into the bottle. He was really pissed. His head hurt god dammit and he had let it do it. He felt his power flare brightly, but this time he had it by the throat and dragged it back inside of himself, Dean helping to keep it contained. The anger had certainly increased the power's strength, but with Dean's aid, he was finally able to put the cork back in place.

Panting, sweat poring off him, Sam collapsed against his brother. He needed aspirin. A whole bottle probably wasn't enough. He groaned and put his hand to his temple.

"That fucking hurt," Sam complained. "And that was just one tendril that smacked me."

Looking up at his brother, fear coloring his face, he asked softly, "I'm scary powerful, aren't I?"

 

* * *

Dean felt Sam begin to do as he said. He felt the younger man trying to relax. He heard the change in his brother’s breathing. He knew when his brother began trying to pull the power back into himself the way he had told Sam. And he felt the darkness retaliate and try to attack Sam instead of obey him.

He wrapped his own powers even tighter around them both, protecting Sam and himself, keeping the explosion of raw energy from turning inwards against the younger man. He felt his own powers try to break free of his control, reacting to Sam’s lack of control and trying to fight him as Sam’s power fought, but he had trained too hard and too long for him to lose his grip on them.

It hurt, trying to control his own powers as well as Sam’s. Dean’s head throbbed, he felt blood dripping from his nose, tasted it in the back of his throat, but he refused to let any harm come to his brother. Unfortunately this was all too common, when the powers first began manifesting. Dean remembered the pain well of the dark power trying to rip him up from the inside as much as it tried to lash out at everything else. It could be painful, it could even kill, Dean had seen it happen more than once, and Sam was so powerful…

No, he would not let it harm the younger man. Dean would let it turn against him before he let it destroy his brother. Sam would learn control. He would help him. Together he would teach his brother how to master it.

Dean felt Sam’s anger beginning to rise again but instead of fueling the power to even greater proportion he felt the younger man successfully beginning to pull it back inside him. Locking it away once more faster than he had expected. When Sam had finally forced his powers back to their dormant state he tightened his arms around the younger man when his brother collapsed back against him. Supporting Sam even though he was nearly as exhausted as his brother was. Perhaps not one of their “best” lessons, but Sam had done it.

He pressed soft comforting kisses to his brother’s neck, drawing back only enough to look into Sam’s eyes when Sam asked his question. Dean couldn’t lie to him.

“Yes. I told you before, I’ve never seen anyone with as much power as you possess. It will take time, but you will master it. You did well. You have better control than I did when I first began learning.” Dean said, and it was not hollow praise, he meant every word. 

* * *

"Well, I know I scare the hell out of me," Sam said as he arched his neck into those kisses. "If this was doing well, then I'd hate to see doing badly. And I've got a lot more years on you from when you started training."

Sam turned his head and nudged Dean. He smiled when Dean's lips moved to his own. He was too strung out for any deep passionate kisses, but he wanted that little extra physical connection with his brother. He tugged Dean down with him onto the mattress. He was too tired to undress, hell, he was even too tired to get up to piss. He needed to sleep a couple hours. Between coming three times, a big dinner, and then the eternity spent training and doing about a good as a kindergartner trying to do calculus when he could only count to ten, he was tired.

He pulled away from their kiss and stared at Dean. "Thank you. For your help, for your support, for keeping me safe. You know I would give you anything you asked for if it were in my power to give. Anything."

Kissing Dean again he pulled Dean closer to him and draped his arm over his brother. This felt so right and so good. "You're beautiful," Sam murmured as his eyes grew heavy and he laid his head down on the mattress. Almost instantly Sam drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Dean didn’t point out that because Sam was older his powers were also stronger than his had been as a child. He had been younger and weaker. It would have been “easier” for Sam to have learned all of this when he was still young, but it was no use thinking of this way. He also decided not to tell Sam that doing “badly” usually meant death. He did not want to frighten Sam, besides, Dean wasn’t going to let that happen.

When the younger man turned his head begging for a kiss, Dean didn’t hesitate giving it to him, slow, gentle, and calming. Dean could tell his brother was more than exhausted, in truth Sam had been exhausted before they had even begun, and that could have made things better or worse. Dean wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter now.

He smiled gently at Sam’s words. They made him feel warm inside even though he didn’t really know how to respond. It didn’t seem like Sam expected one from him however and Dean was glad for that as Sam kissed him and then snuggled up against him, obviously preparing for sleep.

Dean held him close, running a hand tenderly through the younger man’s sweat slick hair and down his neck and back. He waited until he was sure Sam was fully asleep and wouldn’t be waking up any time soon before he carefully untangled himself from the younger man, tucking the blanket carefully around him before he got up.

He was beyond exhausted as well from struggling against Sam’s power but he had to do something before he could join Sam in sleep. Stepping over the scattered papers Dean walked over to the panic room door, unlocked it, and opened it. Casting one glance over his shoulder at the sleeping Sam before he headed up the basement stairs.

The radio was no longer on upstairs but there was still a light on in the study, Dean did not head that way however or even look inside. Dean headed towards the front door, he opened it and went outside. It was near pitch black, only a few stars blinking through the small gaps in the clouds overhead. Dean stretched out with his powers, not enough to rouse any kind of suspicion but just enough to see if the room downstairs had done its job and contained the bonfire that was Sam’s display of power. Dean could not sense anything out of the ordinary in the vicinity but he knew that would not stop him from checking every hour or so just to make sure. He did not plan on sleeping tonight.

Dean went back inside and headed back down to the basement however, back to the room where Sam slept and laid down with the younger man, curling himself protectively around his brother.

“I would do anything for you.” Dean whispered, barely more than a breath into the younger man’s ear. 

* * *

The sound of the footsteps coming from the basement stairs nudged him awake. This was the sixth time. Every hour, like clockwork. Bobby wiped the drool off his chin and off the mat on the desk. He'd stopped drinking some eight or so hours ago. He never got bad hangovers. He knew enough to keep water in him right along side the alcohol. Made him piss a lot, but kept the hangovers to a minimum. He pushed himself up from the desk stiffly. Morning wasn't far off and he was used to getting up early. Stretching, he listened as his old joints sounded like Rice Crispies: snap crackle pop. He really should have dragged himself into his bedroom but he hadn't felt like climbing the stairs and maybe just a little bit because he wanted to listen for the boys and make sure they were all right. Bobby didn't doubt Dean when he told him to stay out while they were training, that it was dangerous to interrupt. He didn't figure Dean had any deep evil secrets he was training Sam in that he was trying to hide from Bobby. After the incident in the car, he knew the boy didn't think enough of Bobby to care. He had warned Bobby because Sam cared about Bobby. The kid didn't give a shit if Bobby lived or died. The boy only cared about Sam. There was utter love, utter… devotion, in the looks he gave Sam.

And Sam didn't get it. Bobby practically snorted as he walked into the kitchen, scratching at the stubble on his chin. Sam didn't get it at all.

Looking around the kitchen Bobby was impressed. Sam always did a good job of cleaning the kitchen and it usually ended up far cleaner than it was any other time. Bobby got the coffee going and started rifling through the fridge. Sugar was a bad idea so no waffles. Biscuits and sausage and gravy. That would work. A good breakfast to soothe his mildly aching skull. He popped open the aspirin bottle in the cabinet and popped two of them to hopefully take that final edge off.

He heard Dean come back into the house. "Dean, would you join me for a few minutes?" Bobby said.

Bobby slid a mug under the draining coffee and when it was full, put the glass pot back on the burner, drops of coffee hissing on the hot plate. He poured half the coffee into a mug and set it on the table for Dean. He began putting ingredients in a bowl to make biscuits.

"Have a seat," Bobby said, jerking his head toward the kitchen table. "That coffee's for you. It's a bit on the strong side. Sugar's on the table and milk's right here, if you want it, but I don't imagine you care. I'm guessing you probably ain't too picky about your food but you gotta learn that you ain't gotta drink or eat anythin' that don't taste good. Well, guess you don't gotta, but you might find you like to."

Bobby didn't bother to measure. He made the batter just like his momma taught him: a pinch of this, a handful of that, a dollop of the other.

When it was stirred up good he rinsed his hands and sighing, Bobby turned, leaning against the counter and met Dean's steady if tired gaze. "Sam don't understand, he doesn't get it." He took a swig of his coffee. Crap, that was strong. Reaching behind him he grabbed the milk jug and poured a splash into the mug to ease the coffee's bite. "I don't rightly know if you should tell him. Not my call, but you go up against the one who was your master before, it would probably be best if Sammy don't hear it from him that Sammy's your new master. It'll shock Sammy, give that demon that fraction of an edge. He ain't gonna like it, he ain't gonna understand it. He's read about demons but he don't understand their ways. Not saying I know a lot, but I understand enough to know you've pledged your allegiance to Sam and renounced your allegiance to your demon master. Sammy won't get the the full-on reasons of why your daddy will be so pissed-off. Not gonna understand it's not just you're standing beside Sam, but that you're serving him and he'll want you to consider yourself as free. He won't understand you don't know how to be anything but a slave and that being free, you just don't know how to be that. He's gonna fight that concept tooth and nail. If you want, I'll try to explain it to him, but he's as stubborn as his daddy. As stubborn as you seem to be."

After putting a bit of bacon grease in the skillet Bobby tossed some crumbled sausage into the pan to cook. "Now I'm a guessing your demon daddy owns your soul. Had you declare it his and you were told what a good boy you was for selling it to him, cause either you didn't understand really, or 'cause you wanted to please him. Don't know that Sammy will get that either. Don't think Sam's naïve, he just prefers to ignore or get angry at anything he don't want to acknowledge. Like the fact you tore his and your daddy to near pieces. That you ain't changed into a loving righteous man. You're still the mean bastard we went up against who sicced his pets on us. I ain't forgettin' but I know Sammy loves you. I'm givin' you consideration and treating you like a guest 'stead of an enemy 'cause that's what Sammy wants and he needs you. I'm a guessin' I'm still alive for much the same reasons. That's what Sammy wants and he needs me. Don't imagine you even know what a friend is, don't imagine you even give a shit, but there might come a time you do. When you do, if you do, I'm not going to turn you away. I'm willing to try to consider you a friend. Until then, working associates will do. You don't try to kill me, I don't try to kill you, and we both keep Sam happy."

Bobby raked his hand down his face. "You may already know how to do it, unless the masters don't share. I been reading through those books Jim gave me. If I'm reading one of 'em right, it tells how to transfer ownership of a soul from one master to another. I imagine this is one of the worst crimes a demon can do but it seems like the demon that had Jim didn't cotton to following the rules overly much if those books are any indication. Fact is, I think the demon was a fallen angel, not a bastardized human. I figur' only the Old Ones could actually get away with stealing away souls without getting themselves hamstrung by their fellows. When you get Sammy all trained, I guessing he's got enough juice to work that spell, 'specially with you being willin' to be his. He won't be fighting two powers. Jus' your daddy's. I don't know iffen when he gets your soul that it will alert your demon. So long as it has your soul, it has power over you and you know it. It can make you do things you don't want to. You're its puppet if it wants to use you that way. Sammy don't realize that, either. He don't understand that you might end up betraying him no matter how much you love him and how much you don't want to. I don't know if your demon's got to be right in front of you or long distance will work to make you do what it wants. I'm guessing it's gotta be close to control you. Only way you can really protect that young man down them stairs is get him all learnt about his powers so he can snatch your soul back. Until Sammy owns your soul, your demon holds sway over Sammy too. You've already seen how Sammy is when it comes to family. He'll do anything to save someone he loves. And Boy, he loves you. He wouldn't be so…blind about you if he didn't. And you ain't already, you need to come clean with him about what your demon wants with him. He can't fight it if he don't know."

After stirring the sausage he said, "So tell me. You stepping out every hour, worried someone sniffed you out 'cause of the training or is something else brewing I need to be worried about?"

* * *

When Dean came back inside the house he wasn’t all that alarmed to hear movement from the kitchen area. It was close to dawn now anyway and it wasn’t as though he had been all that quiet when he made his trips outside. The only one he had enough consideration for not to wake was Sam. Though he made sure he did not disturb the younger man every time he untangled himself from his brother’s side and slipped upstairs, he certainly did not attempt to close the door softly or keep his footsteps quiet once he got to the main floor. So it was of no surprise that the old hunter was up and about.

What was a surprise was when Bobby addressed him and asked him to “join” him in the kitchen. Dean frowned a little at the request. A part of him wanted to tell the old hunter to go to hell and continue back downstairs to Sam’s side. He was tired and in no mood to play nice to the old man. But the fact that the other man had _asked_ rather than _ordered_ and knowing that if he refused and Bobby told Sam that Sam might be upset with him was enough to have him walking into the kitchen and sitting down at the table at the older man’s “suggestion”.

Dean looked down at the coffee mug sitting on the table, raising an eyebrow a little at the gesture but he wouldn’t turn it down. He could certainly stay awake without the extra caffeine but it would be easier with it. He didn’t bother with the sugar that Bobby mentioned because the other man was right, he didn’t care.

As he slowly drank his coffee he watched the older man work, cooking again, and admittedly he was a bit curious as to what Bobby wanted to talk to him about. Probably something he wouldn’t like, or that Sam wouldn’t like. Apparently he was right about the latter since the other man immediately started talking about the young hunter when he finally turned to Dean. Unfortunately Dean could only frown a in confusion, not understanding what the older man meant. Sam didn’t get what? If he should tell him? Tell him what?

Dean was about to tell the old man to stop being so fucking cryptic this early in the morning but Bobby finally got to his point and it really only confused Dean more. Sam didn’t know he was his new master? How could he not know? How could he not understand? Something like panic began to settle in Dean’s stomach when Bobby went on to say that Sam wouldn’t _like_ it… Sam… didn’t want him? No, Bobby was lying. Of course Sam wanted him. Sam had said so himself, that Dean was his now. Dean believed anything Sam said over what Bobby said any day.

Bobby was wrong about Sam not wanting him, but he was certainly right about how angry his father would be when he learned of Dean’s betrayal… if he hadn’t learned already. It was pretty doubtful at this point that Azazel hadn’t heard of it by now. A small shiver crept down Dean’s spine at the very idea of his father’s wrath. Bobby was also right about Azazel owning his soul. Dean couldn’t really remember when exactly he had pledged his soul to his demon master. He had been five, maybe six, years old, and yes, his father had been very pleased.

Maybe Sam didn’t understand. Maybe his brother didn’t understand the full ramifications of what Dean had done, of what he might suffer if his father ever found him. But that didn’t really matter to Dean if Sam understood or not. Dean would have done the same thing all over again no matter what the consequences. However the idea that this man, this hunter, seemed to understand him so much better than Sam was a little unsettling. More than unsettling. Especially because he had his own fears about disappointing Sam, of Sam not wanting him anymore, not loving him anymore…

Yes, the only reason why he had not killed Bobby already was because of Sam and they both knew that. He also knew the only reason why the older hunter hadn’t tried to kill him was for the same reason. That was how it was always going to be. Friend… there was that word again. No he didn’t know, and no he didn’t care. He cared about Sam, that was all. He wouldn’t kill Bobby as long as Sam wanted him alive, and he was sure the same went for the older man killing him. At least they had an understanding.

Bobby’s talk of somehow transferring the ownership of his soul from Azazel to Sam did however shock him quite a bit and he couldn’t keep it from his face. No, he had never heard of such a thing. He didn’t know it was possible, but Bobby was right about one thing. It would be considered a crime punishable by death or worse if one demon tried to steal a soul owned by another. If Sam could do this spell… no… he couldn’t let Sam try. His father was far too powerful, and right now Azazel wanted Sam alive. That was maybe the only reason why Sam was still alive. If Sam tried something like that however it might just enrage his father enough to kill Sam outright.

Unfortunately Bobby was also right about how his father could compel him to obey, even if Dean did not wish to. It was one of the reasons why Dean kept returning outside all night long, to check for the presence of other demons… his father… if he felt Azazel closing in on him Dean was not planning on staying, he was planning on trying to lead his former master as far away from Sam as he possibly could. It was only a matter of time before Azazel found him. Only a matter of time, and was why he cherished ever second he had with his brother.

Dean considered a moment how to answer the older man’s question, he could simply answer “yes” that was all there was to it and leave it at that. But because it was Sam’s safety that Dean cared most about…

“My father wants Sam for the same reason he wanted me. Sam is far more powerful than I am or would ever be. I have been checking to make sure that Sam’s powers went unnoticed, you can relax on that account, I believe the room successfully shielded his power from the demons searching for him. I am also checking for the presence of my father. I will not stay here if he comes. I will lead him as far away from Sam as I can. I know will only be a matter of time before he finds me. I cannot hide from him forever… You are right, that Azazel owns my soul, but he can do far more than compel me to obey. If he wished to, he could take it. Steal it right from my body drag it straight to hell and there is nothing anyone or anything could do to stop that.”

* * *

The look on Dean's face made it quite clear to Bobby that Dean didn't know his soul could be regained. Well, transferred. Potentially Sam, once he owned it, could return that ownership to Dean, but he seriously doubted Dean would accept his soul back. He would want Sam to keep it. Bobby wondered what Jim would say. Was it a sin to own another's soul if they wanted you to have it?

Bobby gave a soft snort when Dean said he would bail and that no one could stop Azazel from taking Dean's soul. "Tell Sam that. He wouldn't let the boundaries of Hell stop him from trying to come after you. He definitely won't be happy if you try to bail on him.

"Glad to know the room is helping to keep you two hidden. When Sam's well trained enough to go up against Azazel is it?" Bobby gave long pause. "Quite a powerful demon. A fallen angel." Bobby turned back to stir the sausage, trying to hide the fact he paled a little. Jesus H. Christ. A fucking fallen angel. Sam might be strong, but Azazel was other worldly. He was a fucking angel. How could Sam ever hope to go up against the beast and win? Maybe Dean and Sam together…? But Dean couldn't, not while Azazel still held his soul.

"Let's hope Azazel doesn't find you until you boys are ready. When you think it's getting close, that Sammy's ready to snatch your soul from that demon, you let me know. I'll get some things set up so when he shows up, the two of you have a shot at beating him. I got me a few tricks that can help you boys out. I'm not going to let Sammy lose you. He can't take any more losses, Dean. He just can't. He loses you and he'll either simply break or he'll embrace that power of his with everything in him, probably searing his own soul away in the process just to get you back. We'll find a way to beat Azazel. I'll dig in hard and see what I can come up with. I'm glad I at least know what we're facing now." Bobby twisted his head to look at Dean. "Breakfast ought to be ready in about twenty minutes. Why don't you go rouse your brother…" Bobby cut himself short at the reminder the boys were lovers and brothers. He swallowed and began again. "See if Sam isn't ready for some breakfast. It's always better if you don't have to reheat it."  


* * *

Dean's eyes narrowed a little when the older hunter stated quite plainly that Sam would not be happy if Dean “bailed” on him. Dean was not planning to _bail_ on Sam! He was planning to do whatever was in his power to protect him! If that meant leading his father far enough away from Sam to give his brother a chance to escape the demon’s clutches… Bobby was probably right, unfortunately, that Sam would not see it that way. That the younger man would see Dean’s efforts as some kind of betrayal.

Betraying Azazel for Sam had been the hardest decision Dean had ever made in his entire life. It still tortured him inside. Knowing how he was betraying his former master. His father. If not for Sam… But Dean was doing _all_ of this for Sam. The idea of betraying Sam…

Dean could barely breathe at the very thought.

Dean wasn’t sure he had been able to keep the turmoil of all his conflicting emotions from his face, but he wasn’t sure he cared right now either. Bobby’s rather blunt and obvious statement about his father drew him a little out of his despairing thoughts however. The fact that the hunter actually knew his demon father’s name, what his father had been, was a bit surprising however. This man was quite the hunter indeed if he knew the ranks of demons and fallen angels so well.

He still did not like the idea of Sam even trying to steal his soul away from Azazel. He may have to ask the hunter to see these books just so he could destroy them so Sam couldn’t even attempt it. Though Dean wished more than anything that his soul could belong to Sam and not to Azazel it was simply too dangerous. He could not, would not, let Sam try. But the idea of Sam trying to save him, trying to get him back, destroying himself… That terrified him just as much.

Then again, hadn’t Bobby said just a moment ago that Sam didn’t even want to own him? Maybe the hunter was wrong then. Maybe Sam wouldn’t try to come after him. Maybe his loss wouldn’t destroy Sam. Maybe it was better if Sam didn’t want him after all…

Dean was more than glad for the end to the conversation, and was also glad that the older man apparently didn’t notice the crushing misery in his eyes that idea had caused. Dean stood up from the table without a word and headed to the basement and the room where Sam slept. His brother still slept deeply and Dean was very reluctant to wake him, considering how exhausted the younger man must be. But using his powers always made Dean hungrier than normal, because it used so much energy. There was a good chance Sam would be hungry, if he was still tired after he ate he could always go back to sleep.

So Dean knelt down next to the younger man on the mattress, reaching out to brush his fingers lightly through his brother’s hair and over the nape of his neck.

“Sam? Bobby is making breakfast.”

* * *

Mostly there had been no dreams. Mostly. The dreams he had were a strange mix of nightmarish horrors and fantastical delights. On moment he was making love to Jessica, then she burned to ash in his arms, and Dean, like the phoenix, replaced Jessica's spot. They made love, then the Dean he first met in the mill was there with a knife and began carving on him and stroking him, making him hard with each stroke and simultaneous wicked gash. And then there was the presence, the presence that was watching him, the golden eyes in the dark. They were always in his nightmares, ever since he had been a small boy. They were faint now, they seemed to search for him, unable to see him, but that presence was still there, almost tangible in the shadows.

A cool wind lightly caressed him, disturbing his hair and tickling the back of his neck. His eyes shot open and a small gasp escaped him. His eyes immediately came to rest on his brother and the tension drained out of him.

He pulled Dean down into a long kiss. When he finally let Dean breathe he murmured, "Mmm, I think I like how I woke up last time better." He reached between Dean's legs and cupped him, then rubbed lightly against the mound beneath the cloth. "Breakfast huh?" he asked, his brain finally catching up to Dean's words. Sam smiled broadly. "And you called him Bobby."

The hand he was using to rubbing Dean's cock moved to the button of his brother's jeans, popping it open and pulling at it. Sam loved the sound the zipper made as the metal teeth slowly separated. He guided Dean's hand to his own pants that he hadn't bothered to peel off before falling asleep.

"I am hungry," he said, staring lustfully into Dean's eyes. "So I guess we better go for just a quickie. I'll make it up to you later, though." He slid Dean's jeans and shorts down to his thighs, looking hungrily at Dean's thick cock, a small moan escaping him. He was already half hard from his dreams and the sight of Dean's member drove more blood right to Sam's own.

* * *

Dean’s expression shifted briefly to concern at the way Sam almost startled awake, but when the younger man quickly relaxed so did his expression into a fond look. When Sam pulled him closer Dean went willingly. Parting his lips to accept the soft moist tongue into his mouth, stroking it with his own, nipping and sucking leisurely on Sam’s lips until they finally drew apart slightly.

Dean smiled a little when Sam mentioned how he had woken up the younger man before. Dean had certainly enjoyed that very much too, but he hadn’t wanted to overstep his bounds again. Now that he knew that Sam was interested in this from him now he was more than willing to “wake up” every part of Sam thoroughly.

Dean moaned softly when Sam’s warm hand slipped between his legs to palm his dick through his jeans.

“You asked me to.” Dean replied simply, with a little shrug, when Sam commented on him calling the old hunter Bobby. Still, the fact that it pleased Sam pleased him. A small groan of encouragement left his lips when Sam began to undo his pants. He needed no encouragement when Sam led one of his hands to his brother’s groin. Dean lovingly squeezed and rubbed the younger man’s growing erection through the rough material.

He deftly unbuttoned Sam’s jeans as well. Making quick work of the button and zipper as Sam eagerly tugged Dean’s jeans down his thighs enough to expose him. Sam’s hungry look as his brother gazed at his cock making him even harder. His fingers drifted upwards to slip underneath Sam’s shirt, lightly tracing across the firm muscles of his stomach then his touch moved down following the fine trail of hair, slipping easily underneath the waistband of Sam’s shorts to curl his fingers around the hot needy flesh he found.

“I want to suck you…” Dean whispered, licking his lips, eagerly wetting him. But he waited for Sam to tell him what he wanted. 

* * *

Sam arched into the hand palming him and squeezing him, soft groans escaping him, a soft complaint sounding when Dean's hand left his cock. He felt his own pants loosen and was ready to lift his ass off the bed so Dean would pull his pants off when instead, his brother traced fire over his stomach. When the older man took hold of Sam's cock, a louder groan escaped him and he bucked a little into Dean's hand. The thought of Dean's plump lips wrapped around his dick sent a wave of fresh blood coursing into his cock.

The look of pure lust that he saw on his brother's face he knew was surely a mirror on his own. He had considered the same question, the same statement for Dean. He was really thinking them rubbing their dicks together was sounding pretty damned good too and had actually been his initial intent until he saw that big beautiful cock begging for attention. Dean beat him to the punch, dammit.

Sam stroked Dean's cheek with one hand while his other stroked Dean's cock. "I'm yours. You can do what you want to me, when ever you want. All you have to do is ask," he said and then added with a chuckle. "So long as you don't wear me out too much for training and you give me time to eat." He smiled letting his eyes half close and he dropped his hand from Dean's cheek and his cock. "Suck me off, big brother," he begged, eagerly anticipating Dean's hot mouth on his cock. 

* * *

Dean leaned his face into the gentle hand that touched his cheek while he thrust slowly into the hand curled around his full erection. Sam’s words making him groan and Dean nodded in understanding. Then Sam’s hands left him as the younger man laid back against the mattress, waiting and eager for his mouth, and he didn’t even have time to think how much he missed having Sam’s touch on him. He was too busy thinking of how much he wanted to feel Sam in his mouth, heavy on his tongue, down his throat, hearing Sam’s moans as he took him deep.

He reluctantly released the younger man’s hot hard cock, he didn’t want to but unfortunately he needed two hands to pull his shirt off from over his head, as well as take off his jeans and underwear. Leaving him completely bare for his brother to look at or touch as he wished.

Dean straddled Sam’s hips then, leaning in to kiss the younger man slowly and thoroughly despite the fact that Sam had said they needed to do this quickly. Perhaps if he cared half as much about his own pleasure as he did for Sam’s he would have. Instead he moved slowly, exploring the younger man’s mouth at a leisurely pace before broke the kiss to slide down his brother’s body.

He let his body caress Sam’s, rubbing against the younger man, and pushing Sam’s shirt up more to expose his stomach when he reached there. Dean licked at his brother’s muscles and swirled his tongue in his navel for a few moments. Gripping the waistband of the younger man’s jeans and shorts and tugging them down, giving him access to his brother’s beautiful hard cock.

Looking up at the younger man through thick eyelashes Dean let his hot breath caress down the length of his brother’s throbbing flesh, shifting down even lower to lap at the younger man’s balls. Taking one and then the other into his mouth, swirling and sucking on the sensitive flesh. Licking a wet path up the underside of his brother’s dick resting hot and heavy against the younger man’s stomach. He didn’t touch Sam with his hands, only his mouth. Swirling his tongue around the swollen head and tickling the slit with the tip of his tongue. Groaning at the taste of the drops of precome he licked away.

* * *

Sam whimpered just a little when Dean's hand left his cock, but watching Dean divest himself of his clothing was enough reward to silence him. His mind was too busy fastened on that muscular scar ridden chest with nipples he wanted to latch onto and suck, those perfectly tight abs he wanted to run his hands over, that growing erection his hands itched once again to touch.

He watched as Dean straddled him and couldn't help bucking up into the weight that settled on him. Damn his brother knew how to make him hot. When Dean's lips descending on his, he cupped the back of Dean's head. He opened his mouth ready for hot and furious kisses, but realized Dean-and-his-damned-so-slow-it's-painful attitude was back. Dean made slow and patient love to his mouth and any thought of this being a quickie flitted out of Sam's head. Whatever Dean wanted to do, he was at his mercy.

The press of Dean's body against him only made him moan more into this brother's mouth. He ran his hands lovingly over Dean's back, tracing out muscle, tracing along scars. He wondered briefly if his healing power could take away Dean's scars. Maybe he would try. The thought of running his hands over perfectly flawless flesh excited him, but at the same time the scars were part of Dean and he wasn't sure he wanted that to change. Those scars were a constant reminder of why he would fight to the death to free his brother from his demon lord. Once he freed his brother, maybe then…

When Dean broke their kiss, Sam didn't particularly complain, know where that mouth was going to be very shortly. He arched into his brother's skillful tongue as it roved over his stomach and flicked in and out of his navel, bringing about more moans. He combed his fingers through his brother's hair and then lifted his hips a little, helping the older man to pulled his jeans and shorts down.

The look the man gave him when he reached Sam's thoroughly erect cock made his breath catch. Seeing his brother at his ready cock, feeling his hot breath whisper over it made his precome leak more readily. That moist tongue licking at his balls, that mouth taking one ball and then the other into his mouth had Sam bucking a little, so wanting Dean's mouth on his needy cock.

"Suck me, Dean," Sam begged softly between his groans of pleasure. He shuddered as Dean's tongue finally licked up his cock then played with his slit.

"Take me in your mouth," Sam breathed, momentarily tightening his fingers in Dean's hair, then petting at him, before running his fingers through his brother's hair again. "Take me…"  
  


* * *

Dean rubbed his lips back and forth across the head of his brother’s shaft and then licked them clean slowly, savoring the taste of his brother smeared across them. At Sam’s order his eyes darkened even more with desire if it were possible and he didn’t hesitate to obey. Steadying the younger man’s thick shaft with one hand Dean parted his lips and slipped them over the thick crown. He played with Sam for a few moments just like that. Swirling his tongue around the tip, licking into the sensitive v underneath, sucking it until his cheeks hollowed, as though Sam’s cock was a delicious piece of candy. When he pulled his lips off of the younger man with an obscene slick pop a line of spit and come trailed from his lips to his brother’s cock and Dean eagerly licked it away.

“I love you.” He whispered, and when he opened his mouth again he took Sam all the way inside this time without any teasing. Feeling his brother’s hard cock nudging at the back of his throat he swallowed around the younger man to take him even deeper. He closed his eyes and moaned deeply as Sam bottomed out in side of him, nuzzling a little at the coarse hair at the base of his brother’s cock. His fingers digging bruises into the younger man’s hips to keep Sam pinned to the mattress. Soon he would let Sam set his own pace fucking his mouth but not yet.

He kept Sam as deep as he could for as long as he could, until little sparks of light began dancing behind his closed eyelids. Then he began to draw back, sucking on his brother’s cock hard enough for his cheeks to hollow till only the tip of the younger man remained past his lips then he took Sam deep again. He slid his lips up and down the full length of his brother’s member every time he took Sam into his mouth, setting a pace that wasn’t too fast to bring Sam off quickly and not too slow to be considered teasing.

Dean opened his eyes after a time, looking up the length of his brother’s body, humming contentedly around Sam’s thick dick sliding smoothly between his lips. 

* * *

Sam was almost surprised Dean didn't tease him. He had told him they needed to be "quick" and he certainly wasn't going to complain as he watched his brother toy with his crown. Each swirl, each lick making him groan and try to fuck up into that mouth. When Dean began sucking on his cock, really sucking on it, Sam's head fell back and he moaned obscenely.

"So good, so fucking good," Sam murmured.

He heard Dean's soft words but couldn't do more than groan because Dean took him in then and his brain short circuited as Dean swallowed and held him there both buried deep in his throat and on the mattress, unable to move. Dean kept him encased in this mouth for so long he didn't see how Dean didn't pass out from lack of air. At least a part of his brain managed to wonder that while the rest of it just absorbed the unbelievable feel of being buried in his brother's hot wet mouth for such a long long time. Sam moaned again as Dean began sucking on him hard and began sliding up and down his length. It was a good pace, not the brutal slow pace Dean seemed to love to do to him and not so fast he was ready to come. When Dean began humming a small convulsion shook him.

"Dean…" Sam murmured over and over.

Finally the older man released his hips and Sam wasted no time starting to fuck up into Dean's mouth, his fingers still wrapped in his brother's hair. Initially he kept to the pace Dean had set, but as the heat coiled hotter and hotter in him, his pace increased. He couldn't believe how deeply Dean was able to take him and how Dean managed to suck him each time he pulled out. His cries of pleasure grew in volume and his paced increased as he pounded into his brother's mouth. He came hard, crying his brother's name as the orgasm shook him and the flashes of light filled his view.

* * *

Dean gave Sam everything he asked for and everything Sam didn’t. His own cock throbbed, hard between his legs, leaking and every sound his brother made only made him hotter and harder. Sam’s fingers tight in his hair, Sam whispering his name over and over, the fullness of the younger man in his mouth, Sam all he could taste and smell, it was all so perfect, so right.

He knew exactly when his brother wanted more, and he finally released Sam’s hips. Bracing his hands on either side of the younger man on the mattress and relaxing as Sam began fucking up into his mouth. Of course he continued sucking, licking, swallowing around his brother deeply, but he let the younger man control the pace completely. When Sam began to fuck harder, faster, between his lips Dean merely moaned around him in pleasure. Encouraging. Loving every second of his brother pounding down his throat.

Dean knew instantly when Sam was close, could feel it in the tightening of his brother’s body, his loud uncontrolled moans, the way his hips began to thrust almost erratically and when the elder man felt the first splash of hot come hit the back of his throat he took Sam in as deeply as he could. Swallowing him down and moaning with each convulsion, massaging Sam’s pulsing cock with his tongue and throat, drinking down every last drop of his brother’s pleasure as though it was the sweetest ambrosia. Refusing to let a single drop slip from between his lips.

He didn’t release or pull off his brother until the younger man began to soften in his mouth, and at the first breath Dean took as he drew back little spots of darkness and light danced in his vision but he didn’t care. He licked every inch of Sam’s cock clean, practically purring with pleasure and every swipe of his tongue. Finally letting his brother’s flesh slip from his lips with a tender kiss Dean laid down to rest his cheek on his brother’s thigh, panting heavily, and looking up at Sam with all the adoration in the world. 

* * *

His brother milked him dry, pulling small shudders and moans from him until there was nothing left and his cock finally softened. Additional shivers of electricity arced through him as Dean ran his tongue over his cock again and again until he was finally satisfied and released him. Sam was still panting when Dean rested his cheek on Sam's leg. The look he gave Sam was pure and complete love and Sam felt so undeserving of it. He ran his hand over Dean's hair and then gave a light tug. Dean crawled up his sweat coated body and Sam pulled Dean down on top of him, kissing him fervently. Tasting himself in Dean's mouth made him groan. He stopped suddenly, his eyes wide when he felt Dean's hard erection pressed against him. He rolled Dean over so he pinned him to the mattress. Pushing himself up he looked down at his brother with loving eyes.

"You give me everything. You give me your love, your heart, everything you are and everything you even begin to think I want. I don't deserve you," Sam said, leaning down and brushing his lips teasingly over Dean's before pulling away.

"I want you to tell me what you want, tell me how I can pleasure you. You held back everything so you could focus on me. It's your turn, big brother. I want you to come, I want to ease you." Sam reached down and began caressing Dean's steel hard dick. "How do you want to come? Do you want me to blow you? Do you want to fuck me? Tell me what you want, Dean. You can have anything. Just tell me."

* * *

Sam’s fingers running through his hair practically made Dean purr, nuzzling a little against the younger man’s thigh and licking at the seam where his brother’s leg met his torso. When Sam tugged lightly on his hair, Dean knew exactly what the younger man wanted. Still smiling he pushed himself up, letting Sam guide him until their lips met in a scorching hot kiss. Dean moaning low in his throat as their sweat slick skin pressed and rubbed together, his hard aching cock twitching where it rested heavily against his brother’s stomach.

The look of surprise that crossed Sam’s face for a moment baffled Dean a little but he didn’t have long to wonder as his brother quickly reversed their positions. Dean grinned up at the younger man, resting comfortably pinned beneath his brother’s weight. The look on Sam’s face making his heart ache just a little…

However at Sam’s words his smile faltered and began to slip off his face. Don’t deserve? He didn’t… understand… How could Sam possibly think he was _undeserving_ of _him_. That was wrong. All wrong. It was Dean who was undeserving of Sam. Sam was his master, not the other way around.

What did he want? Dean couldn’t stop the deep groan of pleasure that broke from his lips, arching a little beneath the younger man when Sam’s fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him slowly. Beads of come already beginning to drip from his tip.

But Sam shouldn’t be asking him what he wanted. What he wanted didn’t matter. It only mattered what Sam wanted. But Sam had said he wanted Dean to tell him, and Dean was suddenly torn between obeying and fear of overstepping his bounds again. If he did that too much then Sam might get frustrated with him and Bobby might be right of Sam no longer wanting to be his master…

“Yes…” Was all Dean managed to groan out when Sam began listing off what he could do to him, bucking up into his brother’s fist. “Please, Sam…”

* * *

Dean's confusion confounded Sam. What did he say that bothered Dean? Why did Dean's smile disappear? The groan he got from his light strokes over Dean's hard member was rewarding and he felt the precome as his fingers slid over Dean's tip. Dean was so close as it was, what ever he gave Dean it certainly wouldn't take much. But still, he had said something to bother Dean.

Letting go of Dean's cock he pressed his body down hard against his brother's, holding him there, tight enough Dean wouldn't be able to rub against him to ease it. He stroked Dean's hair, looking into those emotional eyes, seeing the turmoil in them and not understanding. That would wait. That had to wait. He wasn't sure Dean could. He didn't want to keep Dean suffering as he surely was.

Sam ran his tongue over Dean's plump lips. "Tell me what you want," Sam whispered, "I'm not moving, I'm not touching, I'm not kissing, not until you tell me what you want," he breathed, blowing his hot breath over his brother's lips. He ghosted his fingers over Dean's nipples, ran them up the side of Dean's neck, placed barely there kisses over Dean's face. "Tell me what you want," Sam said.  


* * *

Dean whimpered pathetically when Sam released his cock, and when the younger man spread out over him, their entire bodies touching at first he tried to press up and rub against his brother. But Sam was laying over him so heavily, pinning him so completely to the mattress he could barely move, and he realized that the younger man didn’t want him to move, so he stopped even trying.

Panting, his entire body vibrating with unfulfilled need, Dean parted his lips when Sam ran his tongue over them, and whimpered again when he didn’t receive it. At first Dean couldn’t help but wonder if his brother was not punishing him for something, denying him like this, and he wondered exactly what he’d done to displease Sam. Or maybe Sam was just enjoying holding him here, where pleasure almost turned to pain, listening to him beg?

Tell me what you want…

Dean groaned, frustration coloring the sound for a moment before he forced himself silent. Was this some kind of test? He wanted whatever Sam was willing to give him. He craved whatever Sam wanted. Sam wanted him to come, so Dean desperately wanted that. If Sam didn’t want him to come, he would let the younger man play with him for hours while he writhed and moaned but he wouldn’t come.

But what Sam was asking him… ordering him… he didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t want Sam angry with him. Sam’s fingers running over his chest, toying with his nipples, made him shudder again beneath the younger man. His brother’s soft kisses made him ache…

“I want… what you want…” Dean finally choked out, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked up into his brother’s face almost helplessly. Afraid that was the wrong answer even though it had always been the right one before. 

* * *

Sam waiting patiently, waited for Dean to tell him what he wanted Sam to do for him. in the meantime he teased Dean, but was beginning to feel guilty. Dean was trembling with desire and need. Why didn't he just tell Sam something, anything?

Dean's frustrated groan made Sam furrow his brows and then Dean simply fell silent. Had Sam done something wrong? Was he doing something wrong? His touch shifted from ghosting to real caresses, real kisses along Dean's jaw. He paused and stared down into the face of his brother. His brother's face was pained and confused. His words were almost fearful. He wanted what Sam wanted? Sam shook his head a little. Didn't Dean have any desires of his own?

First he wouldn't dish out his own food and now he wouldn't ask Sam for anything. He had before. He had asked to suck Sam off. Last time he had woken Sam up fucking him senseless, teaching Sam a whole new level of sexual pleasure. He had often instigated their sex…hadn't he? Or had Sam? Sam wasn't so certain now.

He hadn't woken Sam up that way this morning. He hadn't kissed him awake, or tried to bring him to arousal. He simply woke him up. Did he not because Bobby asked him to bring Sam upstairs? That seemed unlikely. Maybe because…because Sam told him they needed to focus on training?

The pieces began to slide into place and he didn't like at all the picture they were beginning to form. No, he told himself he was wrong even as his own words echoed in his memory. _You're mine…_

Fuck.

He wouldn't tease Dean any longer. He kissed Dean hard, passionately, before slowly sliding down his body, pausing briefly at each nipple, working them erect, Dean's pleasure filled groans only making him work harder. He slid further down but his fingers went to where his mouth had beenbut moments before, twisting and playing with Dean's nipples as his tongue went to the the pooling precome on Dean's stomach. He licked it up slowly, letting his tongue brush over the tip of Dean's cock with each deliberate stroke. Turning to Dean's dick he ran his tongue down its shaft, licking and playing where Dean's sac and cock came together. He sucked lightly on either ball. He would love to draw this out, to make his brother writhe and squirm and keen and beg, but Dean had already held back so long it had to be painful.

He ran his tongue back up Dean's shaft and took the tip in his mouth, sucking gently at first then increasing the pressure as he slowly sucked Dean deeper into his mouth. The sounds Dean was making positively thrilled him. When he paused to breathe he returned to Dean's tip and began all over again, taking Dean in a little deeper this time. He did this over and over until he sucked Dean all the way into his throat. Holding Dean's hips firmly he began to slowly bob of his head, sucking each time he pulled up. He increased his pace feeling Dean shudder beneath him as Dean writhed. Sam suddenly remembered Dean humming and the way it felt. Slowing his pace, he tried it. He decided quickly that he sucked at it, though Dean didn't seem to mind if the sounds he made were anything to judge by. He would have to have Dean teach him how to do it properly. He picked up his pace again, finally releasing Dean's hips then, letting Dean set his own pace, encouraging Dean to fuck his mouth.

 

* * *

Dean’s heart beat hard and fast against his chest as he stared up at his brother and it was not only from arousal. Had he said the wrong thing? Done the wrong thing? Again? Would Sam decide he no longer wanted to be his master? Oh, that thought terrified him, pained him, almost enough to make him forget how aroused his body was. His stomach twisting with fear and he felt sick.

He was trying so hard to please Sam. Trying to do everything that Sam wanted. Trying to anticipate his brother’s wants, his needs, before Sam even asked for them, so he would not have to ask. It had been that way with Azazel. Dean knew most of the time exactly what Azazel wanted from him, he knew how to please his former master, and while of course the demon gave him new orders all the time, Dean could please him even if the demon gave him no orders at all.

Dean had thought he knew how to please Sam the same way. Everything he had said and done before had seemed to please Sam immensely. He had thought he was doing everything right... until Sam had told him that he shouldn’t instigate sex between them so Dean knew not to unless Sam did first. He thought he was pleasing Sam, but then the younger man had said he... didn’t deserve... so Dean knew he must have been doing it wrong after all. If he was making Sam not want to be his master then he must not be pleasing him in the right ways. He wanted to please Sam so very badly...

And now he hadn’t. Again. He had failed again. All he wanted was what Sam wanted. All he had ever done was an attempt to please Sam, and he had failed, he was worthless, Sam wouldn’t want to be his master anymore...

But then Sam was kissing him, so hard it practically bruised his lips and Dean whimpered in relief and joy, parting his lips eagerly for his brother’s ravishing tongue and clutching at Sam’s back trying to draw the younger man closer. Sam’s hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere on him, and Dean could have wept, because Sam still wanted him. Sam had forgiven him. He would try harder, he would do anything to please him. Anything.

Dean chanted the younger man’s name over and over, moaning helplessly as Sam ran his tongue over his aching balls and cock. The feeling of his brother’s warm wet mouth around him, swallowing him down, sucking on him, pure ecstasy. His fingers clutched at the younger man’s shoulders, his neck and back arched. He didn’t try to thrust up into Sam’s mouth, only taking whatever his brother was willing to give him until the younger man finally released his hold on his hips and then Dean couldn’t stop himself. His hips bucking up, thrusting between those perfect lips wrapped around him, already feeling his balls drawing up tight.

“Sam!” He practically screamed the younger man’s name as he came. 

* * *

When Dean shuddered with release, when he screamed Sam's name and his seed spilled into Sam's mouth, Sam swallowed it down greedily. He sucked on Dean's cock, moaning each time Dean's body shuddered. He didn't release his brother until Dean had relaxed and softened. After he crawled back up Dean's body, he kissed him slowly, running his fingers through Dean's hair. He finally broke their kiss.

Dean thought Sam was his new master, his new owner. How the hell was Sam going to convince him that wasn't at all what Sam meant or wanted? He wanted his brother free, not switching one master for another, and he wasn't at all comfortable with the idea at the the thought of owning his brother.

"Dean, never doubt I love you and want you." He stared down into Dean's eyes. "I want to free you from that demon, I want you beside me always." He hesitated. He wanted to try to explain to Dean that humans didn't own humans and that he wanted Dean to be free and make his own decisions. Dean didn't know how to be free, though. He couldn't even serve himself his own food for fuck's sake! He didn't know how to make moral decisions. He only knew how to try to please the demon, how to make him happy because if he didn't he would be punished.

Reluctantly, Sam realized he couldn't afford to convince Dean he was free. Dean was still more…demon…than human. He might make decisions that Sam couldn't afford for him to make right now. Not until he had freed Dean from Azazel. Once he was free, once Dean's soul was his own again then he could begin the long slow process of teaching Dean how to be human. It had been ingrained into Dean that Dean only served and that would be a very hard thing to break him out of.

He smiled lovingly at Dean. Best he start small. "I want you to start figuring out things you like. There are a lot of things I know that simply don't matter to you. It would please me if you would start paying attention to things that you prefer over things you don't like as much. Like…food. Maybe I put peas and corn on your plate to eat, and maybe you really like corn but peas you think are little better than maggoty bread. I know you'll eat them both because I gave them to you. But I want you to tell me if you would really prefer more corn and less peas. Or maybe you like peas and hate corn. It's just an example. Maybe you think a shirt I bought you looks goofy. Tell me. I won't get mad. I won't want to send you away. I want you to start discovering things you like, aside from liking making me happy. You're mine. You'll always be mine and I won't be truly happy until I rip your soul free of Azazel's clutches and everything you are is mine and mine alone. Help me get strong enough to free you. Help me get strong enough to beat him, to kill him."

Giving Dean a hard quick kiss, he rolled off Dean but ran his hand lovingly down Dean's chest, to his stomach and caressed Dean's cock briefly. "You are so beautiful, Dean," he murmured.

He looked back up into Dean's eyes. "I also want to know how you like to be pleasured most. I know you're happiest making me happy, wanting what I want. I want to make you as happy as you make me. I want to pleasure you, too. There has to be a few things you like being done to you better than others. Like now. Anything you had wanted would have made me happy. There wasn't a wrong answer."

Sam pulled up his pants and handed Dean his own clothes. "C'mon before Bobby starts scolding us for being late for breakfast. It's never as good when it's reheated."

* * *

His body continued to shudder as Sam brought him down as slowly as he had done for the younger man and little aftershocks of pleasure continued rippling through him even after his brother had finally released his cock. Dean practically purred in contentment as the younger man kissed and pet him softly.

Though even the physical pleasure that Sam had gifted him with was nothing compared to the relief and joy he felt by his brother’s words. Knowing he had pleased the younger man. Knowing Sam wanted him. Dean wrapped his arms loosely around his brother, nuzzling into Sam’s neck, and Dean basked in the warm afterglow of both pleasures.

However when Sam began spoke again, Dean couldn’t help but frown slightly, and his eyes were colored with confusion as he pulled back to look at the younger man again. The younger man might as well have been speaking a language he didn’t understand as Sam described how he was supposed to “figure out” what he liked and disliked.

He wanted to please Sam. He wanted that desperately but he simply didn’t understand what Sam wanted. He was a slave. Slaves were meant to obey their masters, nothing more. The fact that he had _disobeyed_ his previous master, becoming Sam’s slave instead, was still terrifying to Dean. He was terrified of the punishment he would receive from his former master if his father ever found him, certainly, but more than that he did not want to displease Sam. He did not want Sam to send him away. He wanted to stay with Sam… it was the only “want” he had ever had, and it frightened him…

But things like food and clothes… he just didn’t understand. Food was just food, he ate to stay alive, nothing more. Peas, corn, even maggoty bread, what did it matter? And clothes… that made even less sense to Dean…. Pleasuring him… anything Sam did to him pleased him, because it pleased Sam… But if it’s what Sam wanted he would try, he didn’t understand, but he would try…

Dean smiled faintly when Sam called him beautiful again, and nodded, taking his clothes from the younger man. He dressed quickly and followed Sam out of the room and up the stairs once he was finished. 

* * *

"Hi, Bobby," Sam said and slipped into a seat at the table and motioned Dean to take the seat beside him.

Turning, Bobby glared at both Dean and Sam. "I was about to come down and drag you boys up here by your ears."

Bobby broke apart steaming biscuits onto plates and ladled sausage gravy over them and slid some sausage patties onto each plate in turn. He served Dean first, and then Sam before he settled into his own seat. He had already cut up some apples and poured the coffee and orange juice while he was stalling, waiting for the moans and screamed names to finally quiet. He was not about to actually go down into that basement when the boys were making such a ruckus. He would have to gouge his eyes out afterwards if he had. Seeing the brothers making love was not on his 'to do' list. It was on his 'definitely don't want to see' list.

"I didn't think you were in to threesomes," Sam said before he realized it. The words were hardly out of his mouth before he turned crimson. "I mean, I didn't mean…" Sam stuttered.

It was sick, it was twisted, but it was so ridiculous Bobby couldn't stifle his snort of laughter. Mostly because of how completely embarrassed Sam was about the whole comment. "Eat your breakfast, idjet," Bobby said, rolling his eyes.

Silence reigned at the breakfast table for a few minutes until Bobby spoke. "I was telling Dean I've been going through those books Jim gave me. Some major mojo in there. Might be a way for you to get your brother's soul away from Azazel." Bobby took another bite of his breakfast. Seeing Sam's face light up he shook his fork at the young man. "Sam, Azazel…he's one of the first demons. Hell, he ain't really a demon, he's a fallen angel." Bobby cut off another chunk of gravy-soaked biscuit. "I know you're strong, Boy, but I don't know if you're that strong. Men are men. Angels, they're…they're mighty powerful. Only hope you really have is killing him. In flat out tug of war, you'll get your ass kicked. There's a spell or two in the books that might help with the killing of him. I want you to start learning these spells, and I gotta gather the stuff you'll need to work them, but Sam, you listen to your brother and don't you even think about working them until he says you're ready. These ain't little light a candle, spin a pencil kind of magic. This is first magic. Old magic. One tiny screw up and the whole damned thing could blow up in your face and this sort of magic—hell, some say that's how gates to Hell get formed. Old magic gone bad. This is not magic meant to be done by common men. You got demon of some sort in you, you ought to be able to work 'em without them burning you up from the inside out, but I don't rightly know if you got enough demon in you, Son. You listen to your brother," Bobby glanced over at Dean. "And you," he said to Dean, "you know Azazel will come for you two. You need to be learning those spells too. Maybe 'twixt the two of you, you can get done what needs doing."

* * *

Dean sat where Sam indicated, and could tell instantly by the older man’s expression of displeasure that Bobby had probably heard them. Again. Dean couldn’t help but grin slightly at that. Anything that got under the older man’s skin amused him. Though he didn’t particularly like the old hunter’s tone as he addressed Sam, Dean remained silent. It wasn’t his place. If Sam allowed Bobby to speak to him that way there wasn’t much Dean could do. However if Sam ever indicated otherwise he’d gladly cut out the older man’s tongue for his insolence.

However at Sam’s reply to the other man, Dean couldn’t help but laugh, not sure which amused him more, the look on Bobby’s face or how red Sam became after the words were out of his mouth. Dean resisted the urge to waggle his eyebrows or leer at the older man, just to see his reaction and what color Sam might become, if only because he was afraid Sam might actually melt into the floor.

The smile slipped from Dean’s face slightly when Bobby set his plate down in front of him before he placed one in front of Sam. Given the “talk” the older man had given him and what Sam had said to him downstairs it bothered him even more than it normally would. For a moment he didn’t even begin eating, staring between his food and his brother with an unsettled frown before he finally picked up his fork and started eating. Trying to remember what Sam had said downstairs and what he was supposed to be doing, figuring out what he “liked” but he simply couldn’t wrap his head around it. He chewed, he swallowed, the food didn’t make him feel any different from anything else he normally ate. He was hungry and then he was full. Plain and simple.

Dean was glad for the distraction but not the topic when Bobby began telling Sam about the spells he’d told Dean about earlier. Dean leveled a hard glare at the older man until Bobby seemed to be dissuading Sam from attempting those spells rather than encouraging him. He wished the hunter had simply kept his fucking mouth shut about them but there wasn’t much he could do about it now except learn the spells himself Bobby spoke of and use them to protect his brother. Teach Sam how to use his powers so he could protect himself. And when Azazel did come for them…

Pray.

* * *

Sam's mind raced with the possibility of being able to get Dean's soul back. Bobby's stern caution had him nodding his head, glancing over with a smile at Dean. Dean was obviously pissed at Bobby for telling him. They must be very dangerous spells that Dean didn't want him to learn. Too bad. Getting Dean his soul back was right up there neck and neck with kill the demon bastard. Learning to use his abilities was only at the top of his list because he had no other way to accomplish his other two goals.

Glancing at the two boys, Bobby asked, "Anyone want seconds? Sam? Dean?"

Sam shook his head, pushing the plate away but spearing some of the apple pieces from the small bowl by his plate. With the way Bobby cooked, Sam was going to end up with a heart attack from the cholesterol before he was thirty. "I'm done."

When Dean seem likewise uninterested, Bobby dumped what little was left into a bowl. "Dean, would you mind taking this out to Rumsfield?" Bobby asked.

Sam gave Dean a nod and Dean headed out the back door.

"Bobby, he thinks I own him," Sam said quietly as soon as Dean stepped out.

The old hunter gave a soft snort. "Course he does. All demons answer to other demons, least ways till you get to the top of the chain. Then I'm not really sure how it works. He was a human in a demon world. He couldn't be anything but chattel. Azazel still owns him, Sammy. He's pledged himself to you, but so long as Azazel has his soul, he can make Dean do what he wants. You keep that in mind if Azazel gets the drop on you. He'll try to save you but if Azazel forces him, he will do what he's ordered. That doesn't mean he's betraying you. Just means he doesn't have a choice."

"It feels so wrong to "own" my own brother, Bobby," Sam said miserably.

It took a lot for Bobby not to make some comment regarding the whole incest thing. "He doesn't know how to be free, Sam. Anything you say he takes to heart and he takes it at face value. You tell him something and that's a new boundary for him until you tell him otherwise. He lives to please you. Nothing else matters to him. Not comfort, not pain, not hunger, nothing. Only you. You get mad at him and he'll expect to be punished or expect you to send him away. For as mean as a bastard as he is, he's utterly and completely fragile when it comes to you, his master. Until he learns more about you, he's going to be afraid of overstepping his bounds. Think carefully about anything you say to him or about him. Demons are known for lurking in shadows, trying to get intel, trying to ingratiate themselves to their superiors and trying to get a jump on anyone else. And do me a favor? You get pissed at me for something, don't be jumping down my throat in front of him. Like as not I'll end up with a knife at my throat if not across my throat."

Sam listened to Bobby's lecture with almost horror. He had figured some of that was the case, but to have it laid out before him like that…he wanted to deny it all. He wanted to shake his brother and knock some sense into him.

"Don't be trying to push him into freedom and choices too fast, Son," Bobby cautioned. "He doesn't know how to make choices for himself. He'll make choices that he thinks pleases you. He has no concept of 'self.' If he starts acting strange, likely he's thinking he's done something that displeases you. You tell him you want him to be free, that you don't want to own him, the only thing he'll get is that you don't want him. I can't stress it enough, Sammy. He can't function without a master. If you don't want to own him, that will shatter him. I'd bet my right toe that leaving Azazel for you is the hardest, most frightening thing he has ever done. Disobedience is not in his vocabulary."  


* * *

Dean walked outside with the bowl of food for the dog, slightly irritated by the task Bobby had given him, but Sam had indicated that he wanted him to obey so of course he did. Mostly he simply didn’t like the fact that he was away from Sam’s side, the younger man in there alone with the hunter.

Not that he thought that the older man would harm Sam in any way, but who knew what Bobby was telling Sam while Dean was not there. Maybe telling him more about those spells that had Dean wishing he had cut Bobby’s throat before the older man could have said anything to Sam about them. Or worse, maybe the older man was talking to Sam about the same thing he had spoken to Dean about earlier, trying to convince the younger man not to be his master any longer…

That anxiety kept him tense and he wanted to get this meaningless task over with as quickly as possible so he could go back inside with his brother. The dog was exactly where Dean had seen him previous times he’d come outside, laying down on the hood on one of the beat up cars in the yard. The dog’s head lifted however when he saw Dean and what Dean had in his hand and unlike the previous times when the dog had ignored him he bounded off the roof of the car and ran over to him, wagging its tail.

Dean set down the bowl and the dog immediately began to gobble up its contents eagerly. The young man stood back a little, waiting for him to hurry up and finish so he could bring the empty bowl back inside. Though he couldn’t help looking at the dog with a considering eye. Not that he hadn’t seen normal dogs before, it’s just he never got over how different they were from the hellhounds he was far more used to seeing.

Once the dog was finished eating, licking its chops, its tail wagging even more vigorously now if it were possible, Dean bent down to pick up the bowl and was surprised by the sudden slobbering lick the animal aimed for his face. A little startled Dean tried to avoid it, and ended up stumbling, and he blamed lack of sleep and tiredness for the fact that he ended up stumbling over his own feet and falling onto his back.

The dog seemed to take his momentary lack of grace as an invitation, its heavy front paws knocking the air out of his lungs with an oomph, as it began licking and slobbering his face with much enthusiasm. Dean pushed it off him with annoyance and climbed back to his feet. The dog bounded away a few steps and barked. Dean took a threatening step toward it and it backed up a little and went down on its front paws, continuing to wag its tail.

Dean stood there frowning slightly in confusion. The animal looked at him like it was waiting for something. Dean took another step forward and it leapt up, ran in a circle around him, and then went back down on its front paws with another playful bark. Dean took two faster steps towards the animal and it started to run, came back, and ran away again, waiting.

Grinning in spite of himself Dean started to run and the dog took off again, barking playfully as Dean chased it through the junk yard. 

* * *

Sam tried to wrap his head around Bobby's words. Dean couldn't function without a master. He didn't know how to be free, what 'self' meant. How the hell was he supposed to teach Dean those concepts? Dean never had them before. He never even knew they existed before. He lived only to serve his master. Sam.

Had the simple requests Sam made already tied Dean up in knots? Figure out what food he likes, what clothes he likes. Jesus, that was pathetic. Anything Sam gave him was food. He would like it because Sam gave it to him. Any clothes Sam gave him he would like because Sam gave them to him. Dean didn't care. He didn't know how to care. Anything his master gave to him was precious. Pleasure. Pain. Hunger. Food. Sex. It didn't matter. It was all precious because that's what his master wanted him to experience or to have. How the hell did you fight something like that? The only right and wrong Dean knew was what his master told him, and it only applied at that moment. It could change on a whim. The whim of his owner.

Sam thought he was going to be sick.

Rumsfeld's barking instantly brought both Bobby and Sam to their feet and peering out the kitchen window.

After a moment, Bobby began chuckling. "I'll be son of a bitch."

"He's…playing," Sam said, shocked, watching as the dog and Dean chased each other. The grin he saw on Dean's face was almost miraculous. It was happiness. Pure happiness in the moment. He would make sure Dean always got to take the scraps out to Rumsfeld from here on out. Maybe Dean would learn to enjoy playing with the dog enough that if he couldn't, he would miss it. Maybe the dog might teach him something Sam couldn't. That he liked something for himself and not for his master. 

* * *

Dean chased the dog through the yard, around piles of old machinery and cars stacked waiting to be salvaged for parts or raw metal. Most of the time he easily kept up with the animal, though there were a couple of times it almost gave him the slip, bounding through an opening too small for Dean and he had to take the long way around. Dean enjoyed the challenge. The burst of adrenaline washing away his earlier fatigue and whenever he “caught” the dog he would turn around and it would chase him instead. He laughed as he dodged a playful nip to his boot weaving in and out of some piles of scrap metal trying to give the dog the slip but of course it knew the area much better than he did and eventually caught up with him.

Eventually, once they were both worn out, he stopped and the dog sat down by his feet panting heavily though its tail still thumped vigorously on the ground. It wormed its head under one of his hands, and Dean stared at the animal in a bit of confusion, not sure what it wanted now.

Realizing how long he’d been out here Dean glanced a little nervously towards the house and started to head back that way. The dog following beside him until they passed his “spot” and it leapt back up on the hood of the old car and laid down tiredly. Dean could sympathize. He felt beyond exhausted now but he knew his lack of sleep wouldn’t impair his ability to function. He’d have to go far longer without sleep for that to happen.

Reaching down to grab the empty bowl from the ground, Dean glanced once more to the relaxing dog. It didn’t lift its head from between his paws though the tail did start wagging again the minute Dean looked at it. Dean shook his head a little in bemusement before he started back inside the house. 

* * *

Doing the dishes as he watched through the window he couldn't help but laugh softly. Dean and Rumsfeld disappeared among the old wrecks only to appear a few minutes later, to disappear again. He saw the two finally trudge back to the car Rumsfeld tended to sleep on. Dean's shoulders were a little slumped and he looked tired. Sam wanted to get a shower and while he wouldn't mind getting started on some training, he would rather wait until after lunch because it had all but exhausted him yesterday. Maybe he could train for a couple hours after lunch, take a short nap, eat dinner and then try to get a little more training in. He could let Dean get some sleep until this afternoon.

Since Bobby was already in the other room, Sam greeted Dean at the door with a warm kiss. He didn't know if he should say anything about the dog and decided not to. If he said something then he was giving Dean an opinion about it all, and he didn't want to do that. He wanted the man to try to decide for himself that it was a good thing.

"You need to get some sleep," Sam told Dean, hugging him a little closer. "You can sleep downstairs or on the couch, wherever you think you will sleep the best without worrying about me. Bobby's going to the store and I'm going to be up here for the rest of the morning. We'll get some training in later this afternoon."

It was so hard to resist nuzzling Dean's neck, but Dean really did need to get some sleep and Sam really wanted to get a shower and take a little time to just chill. So much had happened over these past days, he had not let himself even begin to process it. He needed to take a little bit of alone time and do just that. He hadn't worked out since the day Jessica had died, excluding sex with Dean, which he had to admit was quite a workout by itself, and he wouldn't mind a light workout. Bobby had a weight machine at the far end of the house. He would really like to go for a nice long run, but he knew both Bobby and Dean wouldn't want him that far from the house, and certainly not alone or out in the open. Maybe he and Dean could go for a short run before they started training.

"Go. Rest," Sam said, nudging Dean further into the house. He gave Dean a slap on his ass. "Maybe I'll get to wake you up this time," Sam said grinning at his brother.

* * *

Dean was only a little surprised when he was greeted by Sam kissing him as soon as he walked in the door, but it certainly wasn’t a bad surprise. He smiled at the younger man and slipped his arms around his brother, holding him close.

He nodded a little when Sam said he should get some sleep. He _was_ tired after all and he would be able to better help train Sam with his abilities if he were not exhausted. He could not risk the younger man losing control and Dean not being able to help him regain it because he was too tired. Sam was already so much stronger than him. Once he learned to control his powers better…

“All right.” He said softly, nodding in understanding. If Sam was going to remain up here then Dean was going to stay upstairs as well, just in case his brother needed him for anything. Dean handed over the empty bowl when Sam nudged him, heading for the living room where the couch was, laughing softly when his brother smacked his ass on the way.

Dean headed straight for the couch that the younger man had indicated, exhaustion tugging at him even more now that he was willing to acknowledge it and submit to it. Practically as soon as he laid his head down on one of the throw pillows and closed his eyes he was out like a light. 

* * *

Seeing Dean settle onto the couch didn't really surprise him. Although it would be inconvenient if Bobby hadn't returned and Sam decided to wake Dean, and then Bobby happened to come home in the middle. Dean would cackle himself silly over it. Sam would melt into the floor. Or wall. Or couch. Or whatever was most convenient at the time.

Joining Bobby in his study, Sam looked over the shopping list the older man handed him. He quickly jotted down a few things including sheets, a tennis ball (for Rumsfeld and Dean), a baseball (because he enjoyed tossing one around), Oreos, chocolate chip cookies, and a handful of other munchies. Basic necessities they had purchased in spades and brought with them or Bobby already had. Though he did add a couple blankets. Yes, Bobby had blankets but it was just a bit…weird…to think of having sex with Dean with one of Bobby's blankets over or under them. As an afterthought, Sam added rope. Bobby cocked an eyebrow. Sam smiled back.

"In case a demon or something shows up. You can never have too much rope," Sam said innocently.

Bobby shook his head. "Yeah. Fine," he harrumphed, trying to completely ignore the real reason Sam probably wanted the rope. He was not going there. No. No way. No how. Uh-uh.

"Oh, maybe some extra laundry detergent. For the sheets and all."

"Acting like freaking teenagers," Bobby muttered under his breath. "Okay, anything else?"

Sam shook his head, "If I think of anything, I'll call. What time do you think you'll be back?"

Bobby glanced at his watch. "Maybe one. I'll need to hit a couple stores for everything." He started to head toward the door and paused, not looking back. "No sex on the couch. Understood?"

Sam felt the flush to his face even though Bobby wasn't looking at him. One minute he could be thinking truly dirty thoughts about Dean, even imply some of them, but when Bobby called him on the carpet, he turned beet red and knew it.

"Yes sir," Sam answered to that tone of voice almost automatically.

After another harrumph Bobby tossed over his shoulder. "I'll bring back some fried chicken for dinner. Don't wait on me for lunch."

"We'll be training this afternoon, if we're not up here."

"Got it," Bobby said and headed out the door. He took a small bit of pleasure in closing the door behind him just a little more sharply than necessary. Sure Dean needed sleep, but Dean had fucking well woke him up every hour. He was just returning the favor.

Once Bobby left, Sam went down to the basement and brought up some fresh clothes and went in to get his shower. He set a fresh set of clothes for Dean in there too, in case Dean wanted a shower when he woke up.


	9. Chapter 9

  
_He was dreaming._   


  
_He was fourteen years old and his father had given him a very important task. He felt honored that Azazel thought he was ready so soon. He'd only been training… for this… for a little over a year. But his father thought he was ready, and he would not fail him._

_His father had been in negotiations all week long with another very powerful demon. Yesterday, his father had allowed Dean to accompany him to the negotiations, another great honor. The other demon, Samael, had taken an instant interest in him. His father had been pleased…_

_That was why tonight Dean was here, in the demon Samael's quarters. Downstairs the demons were all attending Azazel's huge banquet. His father's negotiations last night had gone well, and now they celebrated. With the addition of Samael and his legions it would significantly increase the size of his father's growing army._

_Dean was waiting here now to seal the deal…_

_Dean looked up from where he was kneeling, naked, in the center of the huge king sized bed as the door opened. It was Samael, of course. The demon smiled as his eyes fell on him. Samael closed the door behind him, he did not bother to lock it, and approached him. The demon ran a clawed finger slowly down his cheek, just enough to break the skin. Dean didn't even flinch._

_"So pretty…" He said as it licked Dean's blood away. "Tonight, you're mine."_

_It was an honor... an honor..._

_Dean told himself that over and over that night and believed it, no matter how loudly he screamed._   


* * *

Sam had long since taken his shower though his hair was still damp. He was sitting in the dim living room, the glow of his laptop's screen the only source of light except for that sunlight that wormed its way around the edges of the curtains. He wanted to check his email so badly but knew he couldn't. They could back track his IP address and find him in nothing flat. Even if he routed it through several servers, a savvy computer person could still track him down. He did the next best thing he could and scoured the newspapers near his school for death notices or stories that might indicate if any other of his friends had been killed. The tears came when he saw two others of his friends had likewise suffered fatal accidents, one an electrocution and another had been mugged and knifed. Checking on the news where Jessica had lived, he found one of her brothers had been in a fatal car accident. He couldn't call and warn them, but even if he could, what the hell was he supposed to say? Hey, be careful, demons are hunting you because of me. Sure. That would work just great.

Mike's funeral was already over and so was Jessica's. Not that they had a body to bury in Jessica's case. It was just a memorial service. That Sam wasn't there…what would they think? To them, Sam simply fell off the face of the Earth. That was the way it had to be. It practically killed his soul, but he couldn't risk being suckered out into the open. He didn't doubt his friends would continue to be picked off one by one, trying to draw him out. If he didn't come out of hiding for his almost fiancé and his best friend, did they really think he would for anyone else? Maybe they expected him to call or hell, who knew. Sam didn't have any friends outside of school except for Bobby and Jim and a few other hunters who he knew. It surely couldn't be that much of a stretch for them to poke about at either place and see if Sam was there. That thought suddenly concerned him. Bobby was out alone. What if…?

Soft sounds coming from the couch snapped his attention away from the computer immediately. For anyone else, the barest of noises, the very slight shifting would have meant little, but for Dean, Sam knew he was having a nightmare. He saw the thin streak of a tear leave a glistening trail on his brother's face.

He hadn't decided if he was actually going to try to wake Dean up the way he implied he might, and Bobby's order not to have sex on the couch rather put a crimp in that idea anyhow. Sam knew Bobby was making that request because the couch was old and probably wouldn't withstand the weight and stress Dean and Sam might put it through. With Dean's nightmare, any thought of giving Dean a nice hard woodie to awake to was gone. Instead Sam sat on the floor by Dean and slowly ran his fingers through the man's hair, whispering to him that he was safe. He hoped whatever dream Dean was having was chased away by his presence and reassurances. He wiped away Dean's single tear, then planted a light kiss on Dean's lips.

* * *

The light gentle touch to his face was both familiar and calming. Cherished as it always was whenever his dream boy came to him, trying to take the pain away. He had come that night too. After it was over, thankfully and not during as he sometimes appeared when Dean was being punished. Dean never wanted the younger, so much more innocent, boy to see when his father trained him that way. He knew the boy did not understand why he was injured so, what kinds of injuries they were, what the scratches and bruises on his hips meant, why his lips were broken and so swollen…

It didn’t matter. Dean was just thankful that he was there afterward. Leaning his face into the almost insubstantial touch to his cheek. A few more tears leaking from his eyes even as they were wiped away. The soft sweet kiss that always told him just how much the boy in his dreams cared about him.

Except something was different. The touch to his cheek was not insubstantial, the fingers on his face and caressing through his hair warm as were the soft gentle lips. Dean’s eyes slid open slowly, confusion flickering in their depths for a moment before he focused on Sam. The dark memories releasing him from their grip and Dean smiled a little at the younger man. His brother. His master.

Dean sighed softly as he turned his face a little more into the gentle caress. He leaned up a little, pressing his lips firmer against the younger man’s. His tongue darting out to taste and silently beg for more. 

* * *

The confusion in Dean's opening eyes brought forth a reassuring smile from Sam.

"I'm here Dean. You're safe," he said softly as he slowly ran his fingers through Dean's hair before he wiped away new tears. Dean turning into his touch made his heart flutter. Kissing him again, he felt Dean respond and press his lips harder against his own. That light brush of Dean's tongue against his lips and Dean's pleading eyes made him open his mouth in invitation. He would do whatever it took to wash away the nightmare from Dean's mind. They had a good hour or two before any real risk of Bobby returning. He reminded himself, not on the couch.

As Dean's tongue investigated his mouth his hand drifted to his brother's groin, palming Dean through his jeans, slowly stroking the hardening shaft. He slid his other hand behind his brother's neck, playing with the fine hairs there before cupping the back of Dean's head. He swallowed Dean's moans and finally reached up to the button on Dean's jeans, slowly undoing it. When Dean's kissing grew more passionate, Sam broke it off, gasping for air before kissing Dean lightly on his lips and then pushing his own tongue into Dean's mouth. He didn't want frantic and hard. He wanted slow, he wanted to completely distract Dean from the nightmare, wanted to make Dean remember nothing but his loving touches.

He played his fingers along the waistband of Dean's pants, dipping down deeper then running his hands underneath Dean's shirt, searching out the lines of muscle, then returning to rub Dean through his pants. Slowly unzipping the zipper he reached inside keeping the cloth of his brother's underwear between his hand and Dean's member. As before, he ran his fingers along the waistband, this time caressing his way to the small of Dean's back. He dipped his hand underneath the jeans and ran a finger down Dean's crack and between his cheeks until he found that tight hole. He brushed against and over it, loving the sounds Dean was making, his own throat echoing some of the same moans. His hand drifted up Dean's back then, caressing those muscles, kneading his fingers into the tension there.

When he returned his hand to Dean's groin he dove under the shorts and stroked the bare stiffening flesh, feeling his own cock responding and pressing against the material of his jeans. No, this time he wanted it to be about Dean. His brother could pleasure him without coming when he did. He had no idea if he could or not, but he thought he would try. He wanted to make Dean come so hard he practically passed out from the pleasure. He remembered Dean fucking him through his orgasm and how utterly amazing that had been. So he hadn't gotten to give Dean the waking woodie. He would make this even better.

* * *

Dean moaned softly into the kiss as he felt his brother’s hand slide down to his groin, and he parted his legs a little more to give the younger man stroking his cock better access. Their tongues twining together lazily in Sam’s mouth and his flesh responded eagerly. Hardening beneath his brother’s touch.

He moaned again, louder, when he felt Sam’s fingers unbutton his jeans and he tried to kiss his brother harder, deeper, nipping lightly on the younger man’s lips, but Sam pulled back. Breaking the contact between them leaving Dean panting and confused, wondering if he’d done something wrong. But Sam’s lips did not leave his for long, his brother kissing him licking his lips for access and Dean understood, parting them eagerly as he let the younger man take control of the kiss.

Small whimpers and moans of pleasure eagerly escaped his mouth into Sam’s as his brother’s hands caressed him gently. Touching his hair and neck. Sliding along his waist and stomach. He honestly wasn’t sure whether to feel relaxed or aroused by the gentle touches. Though when Sam unzipped him finally and slid his hand into his jeans to caress his cock once more Dean couldn’t help but lift his hips with another eager groan.

Only to whimper again at the loss when Sam’s hand moved from his groin to his back. However when his brother’s hand slid down to his ass, his fingers playing between his cheeks and over his hole, Dean couldn’t help but push back into the touch. He was so hard now he was beginning to leak, his precome leaving a damp spot on his shorts and he wanted so badly to feel Sam’s fingers inside of him or on his cock. Whatever Sam wanted…

But Sam’s teasing fingers moved away again, gently caressing and kneading along his back and it only relaxed him a little, his whole body thrumming with need by that point. Then finally Sam’s fingers returned to his front, sliding down and underneath his underwear to wrap around his aching cock. Dean couldn’t help arching his back, lifting his hips, and thrusting into his brother’s palm with a whimpering moan. 

* * *

He had wanted to give Dean a long couple hours of gentle loving but Dean seemed desperate and needy. Dean had moaned often during their lovemaking but the sounds he was making now was more whimpers desiring Sam's touch. Dean was already bucking up against Sam's hand and Sam had barely teased him hard. Whatever the nightmare had been he apparently needed more rather than less. As Sam grew in knowledge about how Dean had been reared, injuries he didn't understand when he was young were now becoming all too clear. The nightmare had likely been sexual, probably rape, and the older man needed Sam to erase that. How best to do that? He thought Dean needed his touch. Just as he had desperately needed his brother's touch when the loss of Jessica was at its freshest, though by no means had the pain faded, Dean needed his now.

Then he better get what he needed before he got Dean any harder.

He broke away from Dean's kiss as he continued to stroke Dean's shaft. "I want to do this right," he whispered. "Stroke yourself if you need to. I'll be right back."

He planted a light kiss on Dean's lips before pushing himself to his feet, hating leaving Dean like this. Maybe he ought to just start carrying lube with him, or place some in strategic locations around the house. Yeah, Bobby would love that.

Dashing to the closet he grabbed two blankets, dropping them on the floor in the living room on his way to the kitchen where he knew there was another first aid kit. Pawing through it he found the KY, closed up the kit and put it away. He hurried back to Dean's side, pushed the coffee table out of the way, and laid a thick blanket on the floor. Since Bobby would kill him if they broke the couch, the floor was the next best thing. He didn't want to make Dean walk all the way downstairs. There was the guest bedroom just up the hall with the twin bed…no, the floor would work just fine. He looked over at Dean with love in his eyes and glanced back to the blanket meaningfully.

* * *

Dean panted softly when Sam broke their kiss, watching his brother through eyes heavy lidded with lust, as he bucked up into the younger man’s hand. But his expression shifted quickly to confusion despite the desire thrumming through his veins when Sam’s hand left him and the younger man moved away.

He didn’t understand where Sam was going or why. The younger man telling him to… stroke himself… if he needed to. Do this right?

Dean didn’t touch himself of course. Dean was well practiced at denying his own need, sometimes as a punishment, sometimes simply for his master’s amusement. He simply didn’t understand why now. Had he done something wrong? Had his reactions somehow displeased Sam? He had been willing and eager, as always. Perhaps he had enjoyed too much?

Most of the time Azazel had been amused by how eager and wanton he behaved, begging for any touch, writhing and moaning like a good little whore. But sometimes, he would be punished for taking too _much_ pleasure. He never knew when those times would be, however. Perhaps now was one of those times?

When Sam returned, Dean honestly did not know what to expect. He watched closely as Sam moved the table and laid the blanket out on the floor. Still he did not move until Sam looked at him and then back to the blanket and Dean nodded in understanding, pushing himself up quickly from the couch and kneeling on the floor instead in front of his master. Waiting. 

* * *

When had Dean shifted from being so eager for him, so bold, to being so subservient? Had he said something, done something that brought this change? He missed the stronger Dean already. When Dean knelt in front of him, head bowed, his breath caught in his chest. How did he tell Dean this wasn't what he wanted without confusing the man more? It seemed as if anything he did now brought confusion into his brother's eyes. It was beginning to frustrate him. He liked it better when he didn't know Dean was doing what he thought Sam wanted.

Kneeling in front of Dean he lifted his brother's chin with two fingers so they were eye-to-eye. "I never want you kneel like this before me again unless you're giving me a blow job or I tell you to. I liked you being bold and strong around me. I liked you showing me new things. I don't know when exactly you …" Sam paused, trying hard to phrase his words properly, "…switched your alliance to me. I've never been a master before, Dean. I'm still trying to learn how to be a good master so I'm bound to do things to confuse you. It's not typical in mainstream America for someone to own someone else. I want you desperately as my lover, as my friend, as my confidant, as my brother. I want you free from Azazel's control and from anyone's control. I know the idea of you being free of everyone's control is beyond your grasp. You serve. That's what you do. That's all you do. You are your master's dog. And I am deeply honored that you consider me worthy enough to be your new master. I know you probably think that you are the one undeserving but after everything you've lived through, you are so very strong." Sam stroked Dean's cheek with his fingers. "I am so proud of you for having the strength to love me enough to leave Azazel."

He smiled at Dean. "I never want to hurt you. If I tell you to do something and you don't understand, ask me. You always have permission to ask me anything. Maybe I won't answer you, but you always have permission to ask. You have permission, if we're sitting down to eat, to start eating before I do. It's okay with me if you're served before I am. It's okay if I stop eating first, for you to keep eating if you want to. Or stop eating before I'm done. It's okay if you want to get a shower, for you to get one without me and without asking me if you can. It's okay to tell me if you're tired, hungry, hurting, cold, or whatever. Wouldn't you do these things for yourself if Azazel wasn't around? I want you happy. I want you comfortable. Because I love you so much, I may put your needs before my own. That's what a good and loving master should be like. I doubt Azazel was ever like that toward you, but I'm not Azazel."

He kissed Dean deeply then and slowly guided him backwards until Dean was lying down, sprawling himself over his brother. If his brother wanted eager, needed eager, then that's what Sam would give him. He moaned as he pressed his lips more firmly against his brother's, running one hand through his brother's hair while tracing down Dean's side with his other. Sliding his hand down fair enough, he got it under Dean's shirt.

"We both have too many clothes on, don't you think?" Sam said in between pants as he kissed his brother.

* * *

Dean lifted his head at his brother’s urging, blinking a little in surprise when Sam told him _not_ to kneel in front of him. That Sam had… liked him… better… when he had been “bold” and “strong” for him. Before… before Dean had started treating Sam like he was his master.

Honestly, Dean could not pinpoint an exact moment in time when he had stopped thinking of Azazel as his master and pledged himself to Sam instead. It was not like the switching of a light, on and off. It had been a… shift… so gradual that he hardly became aware of it until it had already happened. If it had happened any other way, if it had at any time been a conscious change, a conscious decision, Dean wasn’t sure it would have ever happened. A slave choosing his own master? The idea was almost laughably absurd.

Had it started back in the church? When he had first made love to Sam? Or when he asked Sam not to release him from his chains because he… didn’t want to return to Azazel, wanting to stay with Sam? Maybe when he had begged the hunter to release him from his bonds when Sam had lost control so he could stop Sam from going to his master? Or when he had used his knowledge of demon magic and his own blood to protect the church, to protect his brother? How about when he had joined his unconscious brother in the car, choosing Sam… or the first time he let the younger man fuck him… or even earlier still when they had been merely ghosts to each other…

No, he didn’t know when it was. How it had happened. Dean only knew that he loved Sam, loved him more than anything, needed him more than anything, his only desires now to protect him and please him, and he was so afraid of doing the opposite. Of displeasing Sam… he didn’t want to be “free”, he never wanted to be free, he wanted to be Sam’s! Always!

No, Sam was not like his demon master. Sam was nothing like him. Yet Dean had been so afraid of displeasing Sam he had shifted his manners to that which he knew Azazel had enjoyed most. What pleased his demon master most, how Azazel had trained him to behave in his presence, thinking it would please Sam as well… that in itself was inexcusable. Because Sam was not the demon Dean once served, he should only be doing what _Sam_ wanted. If Sam wanted him the way he was before… he had thought of Sam as his master… then that was what he would be. He would be anything Sam wanted him to be.

Dean moaned eagerly into his brother’s mouth as Sam kissed him deeply and pushed him back against the blanket. Wrapping his arms around the younger man, his fingers digging into his brother’s back as he arched up into the hand that slid underneath his shirt to caress his stomach. Nodding in agreement that less clothes was definitely better right now as he licked and nipped at his brother’s lips.

Hooking one of his legs around the younger man’s hips, Dean quickly flipped them over so that Sam was beneath him. Pinning Sam to the floor he grinned down at the younger man playfully before he pushed himself up. Straddling his brother’s hips as he slowly pealed his shirt off of him over his head, tossing it carelessly aside. Then he proceeded to do the same with Sam’s. Grasping his shirt from the bottom he began to pull it up off over the younger man’s head, however before he got it free of Sam’s arms he twisted the material tightly, bunching it and trapping his brother’s wrists, and pinning them to the floor with one hand.

“Much better…” Dean practically purred, still grinning down at the younger man Dean began to rock his hips, rubbing his groin and his ass against his brother’s trapped erection. He slid his hand up Sam’s now bare stomach and chest, tweaking Sam’s nipples. 

* * *

He watched his brother closely as he tried to explain how hard this was for him to be Dean's master. He didn't begin to know how to treat someone as subservient. People were paid in customer service to treat you as the boss. Or if you worked for anyone, you 'served' the boss, but that was entirely a different animal. Outside of the office, everyone was equal, more or less. He knew he could tell Dean to jump off a bridge and Dean wouldn't hesitate. He could tell Dean to put a gun to his head and Dean would. And that just scared the fuck out of him. If he said something wrong, Dean might misconstrue it and there could be all sorts of bad results.

He saw the flicker of misery in his brother's eyes as he pointed out he wasn't Azazel. That he didn't want Dean to act like he was Azazel. That was when he kissed him and he felt Dean being eager, ready to please him and while that was good and nice, he missed that more, well, evil streak his brother had. The one who teased him sexually, who gave him everything he wanted and needed whether he realized it or not. He…liked…Dean being dominant. That was almost absurd enough to make him laugh. He never would have thought that of himself. Still, he had really liked it when he fucked Dean in the shower and that was his intent now. Whatever had been in Dean's dream, if it had been sexual, then he wanted Dean's memories replaced with new ones. Ones of him fucking his brother. But he enjoyed Dean taking control maybe even more. Maybe because he knew Dean had never had a lot of control and it was a gift Sam could give him. As he ran he hand under Dean's shirt and along his bare skin he shook his head to himself. It was probably a bad idea anyhow---

Sam's eyes widened with surprise to suddenly find himself being pinned by Dean. He watched as Dean stripped off his shirt and he couldn't help but admire those muscles. Damn did his brother have one helluva hot body and his cock agreed. He let Dean help getting his shirt up over his head and ….shit. Dean had his arms bound up as tightly as any shackles or rope. It was the devil's own gleam in Dean's eyes, but Sam also saw the love and without a doubt, the knowledge that all he had to do was tell Dean to stop and he would. Knowing that, he relaxed, matching Dean's grin. Yes, he definitely liked this Dean better.

Dean's teasing pressure against his erection had him moaning while he began to grow harder. He arched against the callused hand that slid up his body and when Dean tweaked his nipple, Sam gasped and arched more. He wondered what Dean would do if he didn't tell him anything, didn't ask for anything. What would Dean think he wanted? He did need to define a couple simple rules though.

"We have two hours, no breaking furniture, no sex on the couch, and the lube is in my back pocket." Sam grinned broader and didn't say anything more, waiting, letting Dean do what he wanted.

* * *

Seeing Sam’s pleased grin in response to his actions was all the reward Dean could ever want or need. Hearing Sam moan, seeing the younger man arch in pleasure in response to his touch and knowing he was pleasing him… it was all Dean wanted, it was all he ever wanted…

Though he stilled when Sam spoke, listening carefully to the younger man’s words. His head tilted to the side a little, as though expecting more, but when Sam said nothing Dean merely nodded in understanding before he leaned in to claim his brother’s lips in a slow easy kiss. Teasing his tongue into the younger man’s mouth and slowly twining their tongues together as he ran his hand over Sam’s chest again and again.

He nipped and teased his brother’s lips gently with his teeth as he slid his hand lower, down Sam’s stomach once more, tracing the definition of his muscles as he went. When his fingers brushed along the waistband of Sam’s jeans Dean finally pulled back. His softly panting breaths washing over the younger man’s moist lips as he gazed into his brother’s eyes. One hand still twined in the shirt that trapped the younger man’s wrists while his other deftly worked open the button to his jeans.

Dean eased the zipper down, letting his fingers brush over his brother’s prominent bulge in the process. Impatient to feel Sam’s hot eager flesh in his hand Dean wasted no time slipping his hand into his brother’s jeans and shorts, curling around the hot column of flesh he found with a low moan of pleasure at how hot and heavy Sam felt in his hand as he began to stroke the younger man.

 

* * *

He was pleased Dean listened, something the "old" Dean might not have done and at some level that eased his mind while perhaps a very small part of him would have been pissed at, but also liked a little rebellion. Though hell, there was plenty of furniture around that the two of them wouldn't break and somehow he wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up on one of them. The thought of Sam bent over Bobby's desk while Dean fucked him from behind flashed into his mind.

Sam welcomed Dean's kiss, though made him work a little to get his tongue in. The sweeping of Dean's caress across his chest felt so good and as he worked lower, Sam's cock was definitely ready for some attention. He nipped back at Dean's lips. When he felt Dean's hand reached his waist and felt Dean's hot breath whisper over him, he tensed in anticipation. He groaned as Dean slowly opened the zipper, bucking a little as Dean's hand whispered over his erection.

When Dean reached inside with barely a tease and gripped him, Sam bit his lip and moaned, pulling a little at his bound arms. He fucked up into the warm hand, feeling the precome already leaking. He wanted to tell Dean to jack him off or kiss him, but he refused. Let Dean do what he wanted. With each long easy stroke Sam bucked up with a groan.

Though he wasn't about to tell Dean what to do, he couldn't help his moan. "Oh, God, Dean, feels so fucking good."

* * *

Dean grinned at the sounds Sam made, the way the younger man thrust up into his hand, as he ran his fingers up and down the length of his brother’s thick shaft. Gathering the leaking precome from the dripping head and smearing it down, slicking the younger man’s dick. Letting his brother fuck into his grip easier.

For a long time that was all he did. Alternating his strokes between fast and hard to light and almost teasing. Sometimes gripping Sam so tightly that the friction was probably almost painful rather than pleasurable, and then switching to holding him so loose he barely touched him at all with his teasing fingertips. All the while watching Sam’s face closely, listening to his moans and gasps of pleasure, seeing what made his brother groan the loudest and writhe beneath him.

Finally Dean pulled his hand out from his brother’s jeans, his fingers wet with the younger man’s leaked fluids. Leaving a moist trail up the length of Sam’s stomach and chest as he slid his hand up, pausing to toy with his brother’s nipples as he grinned down at the younger man with no small amount of mischief.

“Time for another lesson, Sammy.” Dean said, and with barely a thought he called on his powers to keep his brother’s arms pinned to the floor above his head while the elder man removed his hand. He sat back on his brother’s hips then, tracing up and down his brother’s chest with both hands now. “If you can break my hold, then I’ll let you come.”

Dean knew it was probably not the best idea to do this outside of the “panic room” that would shield Sam’s powers, but this was also one of the best ways to teach Sam control. The panic room was a “crutch” in a way. Sam would try much harder to keep a lid on himself if he knew any big “flares” would alert demons searching for them. Besides he was only applying the smallest fraction of power to keeping Sam’s arms pinned, Sam would barely have to try to actually break it, and Dean was ready to contain his brother’s powers if things went out of control.

Dean leaned down over Sam then, flicking his tongue out to caress one of his brother’s already peaked nipples, swirling around and flicking it gently as his fingers continued to play with the other. He licked and sucked, moaning at the taste of his brother’s precome that Dean’s fingers had left along his brother’s skin. His tongue eagerly lapping at the trail as he mapped out every curve and muscle of Sam’s chest with his lips and tongue. 

* * *

It was beautiful, wonderful, delicious…torture. Dean just continued to stroke him, kept him hard, making him grow harder by the minute. The slow strokes brought out long soft moans from Sam's throat. He rolled his head, his eyes shutting as he couldn't do anything but seek more pressure. The fast strokes brought almost relief as he gasped and moaned, thrusting harder, murmuring his brother's name. He would be coming soon, the painful pleasure that he didn't want to end would, but he was nearing the point where he needed it to. But then Dean slowed down again and he'd have cursed his brother except then his brother gripped him hard and Sam couldn't even speak as he bucked up against the sudden needed pressure, tugging harder at his pinned arms. Slow and fast and slow and fast. And then the feather light touch that had him whimpering and rolling his hips to try to regain that pressure, practically fucking air until Dean was back to the long slow strokes that nearly had Sam trembling as cursed and praised and moaned his brother's name.

When Dean took his hand out Sam thought he was going to die. He thrust up against nothing but air now and he whimpered as his heavy balls ached. He felt Dean's come wetted hand inch its way up his stomach, swirling with the sweat that Sam was drenched in at this point.

"Dean," Sam panted breathlessly. Finish me," he begged. Fuck not telling Dean what to do.

Arching and bucking was all Sam could do when Dean ran his fingers over his erect nipples. He saw Dean's eyes and knew he was in trouble. Not the shit he's going to put a knife in my stomach sort of trouble but more the shit he's going to make me come four or five times this time sort of trouble, if he lets me come at all. That mischievous glint spoke volumes.

Lesson? Dean had him so hard and at the edge, what new torture was his brother going to do to him now? He was supposed to what?? He could barely think let alone try to use his powers. If he used his powers now, he would surely lose control and they weren't…they were out in the open! There wasn't the panic room to hide his uncontrolled powers. When he had tried to just levitate the book he had shredded it!

Dean's two hands roamed over his chest and he still bucked occasionally, hoping his brother would take pity on him but he knew that voice. He knew that look. He had to break his brother's hold. He arched his neck as Dean's mouth began to suck on his nipple, as that hot tongue traced its aureole then came back to his nipple again, then began tracing its way all over his chest, Dean's moans making him fucking harder if that were even possible. Dean's other hand toyed and twisted Sam's and he practically writhed under Dean.

He needed to come, he so needed to come. He needed Dean's touch on him, his mouth on him. Tugging as hard as he could, he couldn't budge the iron grip on his wrists.

"Dean, please," Sam begged, gasping, but it was as if Dean hadn't even heard him. His brother just continued to moan and lick at his chest. Sam pulled at his invisible bonds again. There was only one choice. He had to do what Dean said (and damned if that didn't thrill him just a little bit).

He couldn't just open up, he couldn't just assume the power was going to be well behaved. His heart was racing, his adrenaline was surely through the roof. He couldn't let the demons find them. He couldn't. He wasn't ready, he wouldn't be able to save his brother…

He searched deep, like he was looking for a small loose thread, just enough, just barely enough to forge into a weapon that he could use. He had no idea how much power Dean was using, but it didn't feel like a lot…and all his concentration went out the window when Dean went back to sucking on his nipples. Dammit!

It took him a minute to find that thread again but this time he had frustration mixed with anger and the thread seemed to fairly glow and call to him. He wouldn't be tricked….the things Dean could do with his mouth…no, focus…the brush against his hard member made him buck and whimper. God dammit Dean was intentionally trying to wreck his concentration. Every time he got close! He practically growled underneath his moans and grabbed hold of that tiny string of power. The only thing he could think to do was treat it like a rubber band. He didn't want to hurt his brother…okay maybe he did want to thump him one at the moment, but he didn't want to hurt him, not really. So he twanged that little string a bare light smack right between Dean's mischievous eyes.

* * *

Dean couldn’t deny, he was extremely impressed how well Sam was doing. The elder man carefully monitored Sam as he felt his brother reaching for a small thread of his power. His own hovering over them both like a blanket, or a net, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice if Sam began to lose control. But the younger man didn’t.

In fact, Sam did so well, Dean did his best to distract his brother for two reasons. One, because making these “lessons” too easy for Sam was no way the younger man was going to learn in the short time they had, and two, because rarely would Sam need to call upon his powers when there were _no_ other distractions. Rather he would have to concentrate and deal with what was happening around him as well, like now.

He felt Sam reaching for that small thread of power, felt it slip away, felt Sam trying again, almost…

Then all of a sudden Dean reeled back, startled by the light smack to his forehead between his eyes. It surprised him enough he _almost_ lost his own control, _almost_ released the younger man’s arms from his grip. Dean couldn’t help it, he laughed.

“Good. Very good.” Dean praised the younger man, though he had a feeling Sam wouldn’t appreciate his pride right now, but there was definitely another reward he could give his brother.

Sliding his hands down to Sam’s waist he tugged the younger man’s jeans and underwear down to the middle of his thighs. His brother’s hard and eager dick bouncing up, pointing eagerly to his bellybutton, dripping precome and Dean’s mouth practically watered at the sight. But he had something else in mind.

He quickly pushed his own jeans and underwear down, just enough to expose his ass as he straddled his brother’s hips. Dean gripped the younger man’s cock in one hand, steadying it, and pressing the blunt head against his entrance. His other hand braced on Sam’s stomach as he began to ease himself down onto his brother’s thick flesh, moaning at the stretching burn as his muscles gave way to allow the younger man’s dick into him. 

* * *

He'd done it! He thought triumphantly, watching as Dean stumbled back. Not too hard, just hard enough…and his fucking arms were still held firm. He didn't know if he wanted to snarl or whimper. He did know he just wanted to come. Dean's laugh did not help, though his compliment did not seem empty. He really did seem pleased even though Sam hadn't managed to break his hold.

Sam lifted his head as Dean moved to his groin and pulled Sam's pants open and down. His tremendously hard cock was finally free of those binding jeans and he gasped a sigh of relief. He wasn't coming but it was better at least. He watched as Dean pushed his own jeans down, rather like he was getting ready to moon someone. When Dean took hold of Sam's cock his head fell back onto the blanket once again. Finally. Finally he was going to be allowed to come. He suddenly felt Dean's puckered flesh, that tight ring of muscle at his leaking tip and moaned as Dean slowly slid down on Sam's needy cock.

He felt that tight heat around him and groaned. He didn't think he could have stopped if he had to as he began a slow thrust into Dean's ass, trying to hit that spot Dean always managed to hit for him. He was so hard it hurt. He thrust harder and faster, pulling at his bonds without success as Dean rode him. There was nothing then, nothing but he and Dean as he pumped in and out of his brother, listening to the sounds Dean made, those sounds making him work harder pushing up into his brother, Sam's own groans crescendoing in volume the closer and closer he got to release.

A handful of threads suddenly unraveled inside of him. One thin tendril reached up and wrapped around that invisible bond that held Sam's arms, snapping that bond effortlessly. Then the other tendrils snaked out quietly, discreetly, and webbed around Dean, finding every sensitive spot Dean had and stimulating them, calling softly to Dean's power. Sam's control was pure emotion, wanting Dean to feel how good Dean was making him feel. The tendrils seemed to wrap around Dean's cock, gripped and squeezed his prostrate, and bit and twisted at his nipples. When Sam gave those final thrusts, so did the threads twist inside of Dean, mirroring Sam's pleasure. Sam arched suddenly, plunging deeply and when he finally came, the threads transmitted every last bit of Sam's orgasm straight into Dean.

* * *

Dean threw his head back with a moan as he sank down onto his brother’s hard cock, taking him all the way inside his body, and loving how full Sam made him feel when he was balls deep in his ass. As his brother began to thrust up into him, Dean began lifting himself up and down, riding the younger man’s cock with enthusiasm. Squeezing and releasing his tight muscles around the hot throbbing flesh inside of him, trying to give Sam all the pleasure he could. Lifting his head and forcing his eyes open to watch his brother writhe in pleasure beneath him. Groaning deep in his chest every time the head of the younger man’s cock brushed deep inside over that tight bundle of nerves that gave such pleasure.

He kept up with Sam’s increasing pace easily. Coming down faster when the younger man began to fuck up into him harder. Whispering encouragement’s he wasn’t even sure that Sam heard over the sounds of pleasure the younger man was making. Dean loved and cherished every single one. Loved the expression of ecstasy written all over Sam’s face, a perfect gift he would always cherish.

Of course Dean felt it immediately when Sam’s power began to awaken again. He wasn’t really expecting it, nor was he ready for it. However concern quickly burned its way through the lust and pleasure he was feeling and Dean stilled, even as Sam continued to fuck up into him. He was afraid that Sam was starting to lose control over his power and it would be another explosion like in the basement or the church...

He was ready of course to try to contain Sam’s power if that was the case... Instead the fine control Sam was suddenly displaying over his powers as the younger man easily broke the hold Dean had on his wrists astounded him. But not so much as when Sam’s power slid over him, touching and caressing him as though his brother’s mouth and hands were suddenly everywhere on him, and Dean couldn’t help gasping sharply in pleasure.

“Sam!” Dean shouted his brother’s name in surprise and pleasure as every sensitive place on his body was stimulated, his nipples, his cock, inside of him. Dean couldn’t stop writhing over the younger man even if he wanted to. Gasping and moaning as Sam fucked him, and Sam’s power touched him everywhere, gave him so much pleasure at once he felt like he just might go mad from it.

He wasn’t sure he didn’t when suddenly he felt his brother’s pleasure slam into him as though it was his own, and then suddenly it was his own. His back arching as he cried out at the top of his lungs, spilling his seed hotly all over the younger man’s chest. He couldn’t tell where Sam’s pleasure ended and his began, it was one in the same. Every wave that hit him seeming more intense than the last until he finally collapsed heavily on his brother’s chest. Shuddering as though every nerve ending in his body was on fire and gasping as though he’d just run for a hundred miles. 

* * *

The timbre of Sam's voice mimicked Dean's as every pulse of pleasure echoed between them. Every moment of ecstasy Dean felt, he felt. Every ripple of delight Sam felt, Dean felt. The younger brother could tell he was guiding his own power, and that even in the throes of passion he had it under perfect control. He just had no fucking clue how he was doing it.

With every pulse of pleasure Sam knew he was somehow tightening the web around them, entwining every thread of his own power with every thread of Dean's. They were one. One in pleasure. One in power. One in soul. The threads of Sam's abilities traced their way back to Dean's mind and attempted to invade but Dean's walls stood between them. Reluctantly they fell back. The power thirsted to burrow through Dean's walls, hungering to learn how the well-trained man controlled his abilities but Sam's fear of hurting Dean kept that power from pushing deeper and possibly causing injury without meaning to. The darkness, reigned back from its goal, snapped and snarled at Sam, frustrated by the way he thwarted its desires. Mentally Sam gathered the multiple threads in his hands and wrapped then tightly in his fingers, just as he wrapped his freed arms lovingly around his older brother who collapsed onto him.

He kissed Dean slowly and felt the power twist yet again as if it twisted inside out. The black anger transformed and instead of trying to force its way in to learn Dean's secrets or striking against Sam's control, it sought to share its own secrets with the older man. As Sam's love for his brother spun the threads' own darkness into golden filaments, that same power attempted to coax the black of Dean's power to mirror its gold, seeking out Dean's love for Sam as the pivot point of change.

* * *

Dean panted heavily against the sweat slick skin of his brother’s shoulder. The waves of pleasure traveling back and forth between them making his body continue to shudder in the younger man’s arms. So intense… everything… he’d never felt anything like this before in his life. Not only the physical pleasure Sam had invoked in his own body, but feeling Sam’s as well… sharing the younger man’s pleasure. Feeling him… his love…

Perfect. Utterly perfect.

At first Dean didn’t even realize it when he felt Sam’s powers beginning to try to dig deeper into him. Trying to force their way past his barriers inside his mind, and it was a good thing he was well trained enough not to automatically drop those walls. But by the time he did feel that push, that attempted invasion, they were already drawing back. Sam was drawing them back, and Dean relaxed even as he didn’t even remember tensing in the first place.

The elder man lifted his head to look down into his brother’s eyes. Feeling Sam struggle with his power for a moment, ready to help him if he needed it, before Sam gained control over it and Dean smiled down at the younger man. Sam was learning quicker than Dean ever anticipated.

Before he could offer any other kind of praise, verbal or otherwise, Sam was pulling him in for a soft yet deep kiss and Dean went willingly. He parted his lips for his brother’s tongue and when he felt the shift in Sam’s power, felt it reaching out for him again, this time he met it half way. The tendrils of their power winding together so tightly and flaring so brightly Dean felt nearly blinded by it and he honestly couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began. It didn’t matter.

They were one…

* * *

Sam felt it as Dean's power reached out for his own and the way they interlaced. He felt the shift in Dean's darkness. It wasn't hard and defined; it was little more than a shadow, maybe little more than a glimmer. But still, some of Dean's power answered Sam's and found the gold. His soul was touched, a delicate lace webbing faint among the dark ropes, but there all the same. Destruction and hate was no longer the only thing that made up his brother's soul. Creation and love existed and made up a point from which a fresh start may one day be made. Sam soul too was touched as the pure darkness of Dean's power bled into and mixed with his own. He would have to feed and accept the darkness, the darkness he would need to master to save his brother. He would pay that price. He would pay any price.

As he investigated Dean's mouth with his tongue, the web of power cocooned and protected them. And that moment nothing could touch either of them, not the Chosen One with the seed of dark, not the Stolen One with the seed of light. They were one. They were balance. They were perfect.

And then the web of power dissipated like a spider web in a strong wind. Sam cried out at the sudden loss of connection with his brother and the sudden jolt back to a world made up of more than just the two of them.

* * *

It was a little like breaking the surface of water when you’d been drowning. Like taking that first breath of air that your lungs were dying for, needed more than anything, but was so painful at the same time you almost wished to be pulled under again. When the strange web of power that had been binding them together broke, Dean was left reeling. Gasping and shuddering on top of the younger man, thrown back into his own body with such force it was dizzying and a wonder he didn’t simply black out from the force of it.

That… he had no idea what that was… He had never heard of anything like it. Never experienced… For a moment it was as though their very souls had touched. Bled together. Became one… He had felt it. Felt Sam’s soul touch his. That bright flare of light… and he had felt his own touch Sam’s. So dark… tainted… If it had went on any longer…

No, that could never happen again. Whatever it was, no matter how… right… it had felt. He could not allow Sam to be tainted in that way. He would not.

Still gasping for breath, Dean pulled back. Just far enough to look into his brother’s eyes, gently caressing the younger man’s face, running his fingers through his hair, petting. Searching for the darkness he had left inside Sam, but he could not see it with his eyes alone. He could feel it, however. Just as he felt the glimmer of warm light Sam had left inside of him…

“I’m sorry…” Dean finally panted. “We can’t… do that again…” 

* * *

The touch of his brother's fingers on his face and hair seemed so paltry when compared to the union they had just experienced. His cock was still inside Dean though he had grown soft and even that wonderful feeling of being encased by Dean seemed pale. He didn't understand the pain and confusion in his brother's eyes. Surely that was just as amazing for him as it had been for Sam?

Dean's words confused him then. Why the hell couldn't they do that again? Next time, since Dean knew Sam's power wanted in, maybe he could let it in and maybe Sam could see how Dean had such good control. It could save him days or even weeks of training maybe. And he wanted to do it again. He wanted to be…one…with Dean. The way they had touched each other was like nothing he had ever experienced. He didn't have a bald-faced clue how he had done it, but he really wanted to do it again. He didn’t' think Dean had done it at any rate, though he could be wrong. Maybe with each time they came together like that he could chase away some of the dark and leave the light in his brother's soul. Certainly he knew he needed to grow harder and darker if he had a chance in hell of beating Azazel.

"Bullshit," Sam said. "We can and we will. I don't have any idea how it happened, but I want it to happen again. We can learn from each other a whole lot faster. Face it, Dean. I'm weak. If Azazel walked in that door right now, he would swat me like a fly. This power…it's not made up of sugar and spice. I've got to grow darker if I am going to control it. If I don't, it will control me. You know I'm right. And if I have to pull rank and call due my rights as your master about all this, I will. God only knows how long we can stay hidden from the demons. We may have hours. Maybe days or weeks, but not months. Eventually they will start looking for me at the homes of hunters and Bobby's will surely be one of the first places they check."

 

* * *

Dean’s eyes widened at his brother’s response, though he couldn’t honestly say he was surprised. At least, he wasn’t surprised by all of it. He wasn’t surprised that Sam wanted to do it again, if only because the younger man obviously didn’t understand the full ramifications of what had happened. He wasn’t surprised that Sam tried to sway him by appealing to his need to protect his brother from Azazel. He was surprised however when the younger man “threatened” to flat out order him, as his master, to do it… something that Sam hadn’t done until now.

Learn from each other…

“No.” The word escaped his lips barely more than a whisper, and it shocked Dean probably more than it did Sam. Then he was shoving himself away from the younger man as though his very touch would burn his brother. Taint him. Defile him. An expression of pain crossing his features as he stumbled to his feet that had nothing to do with the abrupt way that Sam’s flesh had slid from his body and everything to do with the realization that the priest was right. Dean was more demon than man and being with Sam like this would only damn him.

He would not allow that to happen. He would not allow Sam to be tainted by the darkness inside of him. He. Would. Not.

Without looking at his brother Dean grabbed his clothes, throwing them on as quickly as he could. 

* * *

No? Sam didn't know what startled him more, Dean's refusal, the sudden way the older man pulled free of him, or the pain he saw crease Dean's face. Dean had to see that he was right. Sam had about as much control of his powers as a butterfly in a monsoon. Obviously his love for Dean and being with Dean allowed him to keep much better control but otherwise he had nothing but anger and frustration to feed it.

So much for the value of being Dean's "master." Obviously it didn't mean anything to Dean, not really. Maybe it was only for show. Azazel still held Dean's soul and Bobby said that Azazel could force Dean to do anything. Dean would betray him when Azazel came. Maybe by refusing to help Sam learn that much faster was all part of the plan.  
  
He watched through narrowed eyes as Dean dressed while refusing to meet his gaze.

"Fine," Sam snarled and got to his feet. He grabbed his clothes and walked to the bathroom. He quickly rinsed himself free of their combined spunk, dressed and headed downstairs, slamming the door behind him. Without Dean soothing the upheaval of emotions inside of him, he had enough anger to work on his abilities without his brother's help. The panic room seemed strong enough to keep his powers hidden so he could unleash them with out fear. If Dean wouldn't teach him, he would teach himself. They killed his girl. They killed and were still killing his friends, they had stolen his brother, sent the same to kill their father. Oh yes. He definitely had enough fury inside of him to work with.

Maybe Dean didn't see it, or didn't want to see it, but the sweet innocent dream boy died years ago. The kinder and gentler nature he had nurtured at college, that too was history. He couldn't fucking go see his ill dad without risking everyone's life further. His father had been right. His father had always been right. No normal life. No normal anything. Kill or be killed.

He felt the darkness flare inside of him as he walked into the panic room and shut and locked that door as well. He went into the back room where they had cleared most things out so he couldn't damage anything. He carried in a handful of books and other miscellanea. He wanted to destroy something. He wanted to scream and shout his pain. He needed Dean beside him but if Dean refused to accept the truth of what Sam had to become, then fuck him. If he turned as dark as might be necessary, if he had been able to give Dean enough of the gold, his brother might have been able to bring him back if Sam crossed a line. But that small hope was now lost too. He would free his brother, he would kill Azazel and then…he guessed it all depended upon how dark he had to become to wield his powers adequately to beat the demon. He laughed bitterly. If he went too far off the reservation one of his own hunter friends would likely feel compelled to hunt him down. Maybe even his own father. The world loved irony and that certainly fit the bill.

 

* * *

Dean flinched as though Sam had struck him. In all honesty, he wish that Sam had. He would have rather felt a hundred lashes across his back than feel the younger man's anger, knowing it was directed at him. Because he had... disobeyed... He had said 'no' to his master, and that alone was a horrible sin that could never be forgiven. He wished Sam would simply punish him now, take out his rage on him. He would gladly accept it. Knew he deserved it... Instead the younger man simply... left. Dean stood frozen in the middle of the room with tears burning in his eyes, twisting his shirt in his hands as his brother stormed into the bathroom and then down into the basement, into the panic room.

Dean didn't move, even though he felt like he was being torn into pieces. All he wanted was to drop to his knees in front of his brother and beg forgiveness. His instinct to obey, to give Sam, his master, whatever he wanted, to please him, warring with his even stronger instinct to protect Sam at all costs. To protect his life, protect his soul, for that he would risk Sam's wrath. For that he would sacrifice his own life, without hesitation. He loved Sam enough to even try to protect the younger man from himself. If Sam's own wishes might harm him...

He knew the door to the panic room was closed, locked, when the feeling of Sam was abruptly cut off from him and the shirt finally slipped from Dean's slightly numb fingers. It felt like a piece of himself had just been carved away. Leaving nothing but a gaping bleeding hole inside of him. Leaving him with nothing. Not even Sam's wrath. Helpless. Alone. Realizing Sam didn't want him any longer…

The tears he'd been fighting slid down his cheeks before Dean could stop them and he wiped them away angrily. As he stood there, alone, he couldn't help but wonder what Sam most needed to be protected from. From Dean, or Azazel. Right now, both were a danger to his brother. Sam was right. It was only a matter of time before Azazel came for his brother, or came for Dean. He had been fully prepared to teach Sam how to control his powers, So Sam could protect himself from Dean's former master, but never if the cost was Sam losing himself. He had sworn to his brother that he would not allow Sam to become like him. He would not let him be tainted… and it seemed no matter what Dean did the longer he was with Sam the more dark Sam became.

Dean knew he could leave now, if Sam didn't want him what was the point of him staying anyway? He could try to lure Azazel as far away from Sam as he could, as he had told Bobby before he would do… but he was afraid that even now, even as angry as Sam was with him, that Bobby might have been telling the truth. About the lengths his brother might go to try to "save" him. Or worse, there was also a chance that once Azazel found him, handed him over to the torturers again, that he would break. That he would lead his former master back to Sam, that he would perhaps even attack his brother if Azazel commanded him. No, he would not be used as a weapon against his brother. There was really only one choice left then…

Dean lifted his head and despite the tears in his eyes they were determined as he walked into Bobby's work room. Where the older man had shown him just the other day where he kept all of his magical ingredients. Dean could see that the older man had been hard at work creating more of the herbal substance that could be used as a weapon against demons. The poison that Dean knew first hand was so effective. A large beaker of the smokey liquid sat on the edge of the table. Dean ignored it for the moment, instead picking up a sharp cutting knife from the table and he slit open his wrist deeply without hesitation. He would not leave his brother completely unprotected.

He spent the next half hour drawing the most powerful protective runes around Bobby's house that he could think of, the open wound on his wrist offering him plenty of blood to work with. Though by the time he was finished Dean felt so light headed and unsteady he stumbled over his own feet as he returned to Bobby's den. The blood loss alone would have probably been enough to ensure his demise, but Dean had always liked to be thorough. Dean picked up the beaker and tossed back its entire contents without hesitation. Briefly he wondered how fast the poison would work, being ingested rather than injected…

At least pain when it finally hit him was strong enough to make him black out almost immediately before he even hit the floor.

* * *

Bobby was glad when he was finally done shopping. He hated 'shopping.' Going to the grocery store was tolerable. Going out to buy new clothes, that was a pain. Going to look at weapons or car parts or tools, well, any of those trips he always enjoyed. Getting things like extra sheets and crap, that simply annoyed him. He tried very hard to distract himself with other thoughts as he picked up the things the boys needed for their…recreation. Still, if it helped keep Sam grounded and kept the Demon Boy under control, it was, in a round-a-bout way a good thing. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what Sam could be capable of if pushed. He had been on the hunt with Sam and John when they had taken down the goblin. The goblin had killed fifteen children, and another a young boy had gone missing two days before. They had been unable to find the boy even after laying hands on the goblin. John and Bobby had both tried to get the location of the boy out of the goblin but Sam stepped up after only a brief time and asked to give it a shot. John had reluctantly agreed. Sam had been … efficient… and now Bobby understood. If Sam had "watched" Dean being tortured, some of the techniques he used now made sense. He had explained them away as things he learned in a history class, but neither John nor Bobby every fully accepted that answer. Sam could easily walk that road again if Dean wasn't with him, keeping him on the higher path. For as evil as Dean was, Dean loved Sam too much to let Sam fall.

A small sigh of relief escaped him as it always did when he saw his house in the distance. He was always happy to be home. They could get everything unloaded and they would be set for a while. He would probably run out to get fresh milk and eggs and such every few days, just to get out of the house if nothing else. He snorted to himself. They were going to be a real nuclear family. Demon Boy playing with Rumsfeld out in the yard, Sam learning to use his demonic powers, and Bobby brewing up demon poison. The brothers passing a baseball out in the yard in between training, sex, eating and sleeping. God, what a fucked up situation.

When he saw Rumsfeld barking his fool head off at the door, Bobby grabbed his salt filled shotgun from beneath the seat and barely parked the car before he was out and running for the door. He unlocked the door, and busted in, his gun ready. Rumsfeld shot by him and into the den. Bobby took in the bloody trail in house and the symbols on the walls and rushed after Rumsfeld. Dean was on the floor seizing, blood splattered around him and the empty beaker of demon poison broken into glimmering shards by his body. Rumsfeld was licking his face and whining worriedly. What the fuck had happened? Where was Sam? God, Sam had to be hurt. Maybe Azazel had gotten in before Dean finished the protection runes and made Dean drink the poison. Ripping a drawer clean out of the bureau nearby, magical components scattered everywhere. He picked up a bottle with blue tinged liquid and forced the liquid down Dean's throat. Almost immediately everything in Dean's stomach emptied onto the floor. The elder hunter rolled the young man onto his stomach to let him finish puking up the poison, grabbed his gun and began his frantic search for the youngest Winchester.

"Sam!" Bobby screamed, running from room to room searching for John's boy. There were no signs of struggle, nothing out of order except for the moved coffee table and blankets on the floor and Bobby didn't have to be a genius to know what happened there. He went to the basement. If the place had been attacked maybe Sam had gotten to the panic room safely.

The door to the panic room was locked from the inside, giving him some hope. He pounded on it, screaming Sam's name, opening the window to peer inside.

***

  
Sam wasn't foolish. He had seen how his powers could strike back at him. He forced himself to only let a little out as he tried to levitate a book. It hadn't gone well. As before, the book ended up in tattered shreds and he had to wrestle his powers back under control. Doggedly he tried again and again. When he finally embraced his anger, he gained some measure of control. It was still a Mack truck careening around the room but at least he was sitting at the wheel this time. He couldn't steer it worth a damned but being behind the wheel was progress. Sort of.

He was drenched in sweat as he struggled to keep reign over his powers. Once out, his powers really didn't like to be reeled back in. Finally he got them buried back inside and was contemplating lunch might be a good thing. He was starved and tired and he had left Dean all alone upstairs. He had half expected Dean to come after him and it hurt a small part of him that Dean didn't. Dean didn't come to say he was sorry, didn't come to help him. Didn't his brother realize how much Sam needed him? Yeah, so he was mad. He didn't tell Dean to stay away. Maybe he shouldn't have locked the door. Maybe Dean was sitting right outside the panic room, waiting for Sam to cool off. They were going to have to reach some sort of understanding. Hell, maybe Sam shouldn't have said anything to Dean about the way Dean had been acting like a slave. Sam would have had puppy dog Dean at his whim…and hated every minute of it.

He was pushing himself to his feet when he heard the pounding, when something seeped into his consciousness now that the dark powers no longer had his full attention. Dean. Something was desperately wrong with Dean. Like when he had gone to see his father and Bobby and Jim and had injected Dean with the poison. Sam ran for the door, unlocking and opening it before he'd even gotten within ten feet of it. God dammit, how did he do that so effortlessly when he couldn't fucking lift a book without ripping it into pieces?

He barely saw Bobby's concerned face when the door opened. Instead he felt the thin thread of Dean's life fading away upstairs, saw the image of Dean on the floor in Bobby's mind. Dean's name was ripped from his throat as he pushed Bobby aside and took the basement stairs two at a time.

He felt the power encircling them, the power of the spells Dean erected. He knew exactly where Dean was and found Rumsfeld at Dean's side whining and circling Dean's body helplessly.

"No!" Sam screamed and fell to his knees not even feeling the shards of the broken beaker cut into his knees or the burning pain of the poison left on them as he scooped Dean's jerking body into his arms. Books flew off the shelves furniture moved, loose objects flying into the air. Tears streamed down Sam's face as he clutched his dying brother to him. He let out everything inside him, every ounce of power and drove it into Dean. The bloody froth at Dean's mouth was washed away as Sam pulled out what poison little poison still remained in Dean's stomach. The poison that invaded Dean's veins gathered and rushed out of the wound in Dean's hand. Every ounce of hate and fury filled Sam, causing the entire house to shake and cracking the plaster in the room. Every ounce of love and need for his brother spilled out. He wrapped his brother in that force of fury and love, webbing them together as he had before, uniting their souls. He ate Dean's darkness while he filled its gaping hole with his love. He saw what had driven Dean to do this and he suddenly understood why Dean didn't want them to ever join like this again. Dean's soul was marked and chained. By joining with Dean part of his own soul became chained and was potentially under Azazel's control. He fought to break the chains and yank out the hooks that threaded Dean's soul but he couldn't. He knew the contract couldn't be broken except by Azazel or through magic Sam didn't yet know how to work. In his fury he followed the chains back to their owner and lashed out at the demon. He felt its startlement and though he had hurt the demon it wasn't near enough to loosen the chains. Sam's impotence infuriated him more but he returned his focus back to his brother. Healing was all he could do, all that was left to him. He clutched Dean's soul to his own and viciously expelled every drop of poison, pouring every bit of his strength into Dean. To save his brother he would give his own life if that's what it took. He would give his own soul. He would give anything. So long as Dean lived.

* * *

Dean had always known from a very early age that he would one day die painfully and violently. His entire life was pain and violence so why should his death be any different? The fact that he had lost consciousness rather quickly due to the agonizing pain of his guts feeling like they were being incinerated from the inside out had been a blessing he hadn’t expected. He didn’t have to feel how his body jerked and writhed uncontrollably as every nerve ending in his body felt like it was on fire. He didn’t have to feel as his blood practically turned to acid, burning through and exploding in his veins, literally boiling inside of him even as it bled out from the wound on his wrist.

He did however feel as his soul began to separate from his body. Hooks and claws digging into every part of him, dragging him down into hell, and Dean didn’t try to fight it. He’d always known this was his fate, and because of his betrayal to Azazel his torment in hell would be worse than any human mind could comprehend.

But at least this way he could not be used as a weapon against his brother. He would not drag his brother’s soul down into servitude to Azazel, or worse hell itself. He would not be the one to taint Sam’s soul with darkness. Defile him… Dean had no doubts that hell would eventually break him, but it could take years, centuries, before that happened, before he became a true demon. By then the only thing he cared about would already be long dead.

He was in no way prepared for the feeling of being ripped, quite literally, out of hell’s clutches. Claws and hooks ripping and tearing at his soul even as it was thrown back into his body with a jarring force. Unfortunately with it came consciousness and all the pain he had been “lucky” enough not to experience before. Now he felt it all at once, a low moan of agony escaping his bloodied throat as he convulsed in his brother’s arms.

Dean honestly wasn’t sure which pain was worse. The agony caused by the poison ripping his body apart at the seams or the feeling of Sam trying to force it back together. As Sam forced the poison out of his body. Forced horribly damaged tissue to knit back together. Forced life back into his soul. Dean felt all of his brother’s anger. All of Sam’s love. All of Sam’s power… and there was nothing that he could do to stop it. He was powerless, would have been powerless even if he wasn’t already weakened, on the verge of death. Only to be pulled back from the edge by Sam’s will alone.

He also felt what it was doing to his brother, and Sam didn’t care, wouldn’t stop… he had to stop…

“Pl… ease…” He barely managed in a stuttering wheezing whisper, his fingers clutching weakly at Sam’s arm. Dean felt it, him, Azazel. Sam had definitely caught the demon’s attention. “St… op. Az… az… el…”

* * *

Some part of Sam's mind acknowledged that he had successfully stolen Dean back from Death's grasp. The chains of slavery still entwined his soul, but he was alive. Sam could do little more than continue to heal Dean's poison ravaged body while protecting his soul from anything trying to take it. United as they were, he felt the boiling of the blood and the wicked agony of the poison. He would keep working until his brother was healed. Dean was his god dammit and no one was taking him away ever again. Even if God himself showed up, Sam wasn't entirely certain he would be willing to give Dean up. He couldn't explain the attachment, the deep and complete love he felt but it was there and it was right. Without Dean he would be lost and scared and helpless and angry and any other slew of types of emotional turmoil would hold Sam in their tight grip.

Dean's agonized plea for him to stop he ignored. Yes, he fucked up. He should have carried Dean down to the panic room, but Dean was dying and seconds mattered. If he had tried, he doubted he could have saved his sibling. As it was, he was pretty certain he had one pissed off reaper hanging around. Tough shit. It wasn't getting Dean. He would make certain of that.

The reaper was the least of his problems. Sam had used everything in him to literally rip Dean's soul back from the jaws of Hell. It might as well have been a nuclear bomb going off. Every fucking demon would be on top of them within minutes? Hours? Who knew. Soon. He needed to recuperate. So did Dean. The panic room would buy them a little time. Likely not enough for Sam to learn to use his powers but every little bit might help. He knew Azazel would try to train him and bend him to his will. He knew Dean would be forced to join them and be used against him. He couldn't very well send Dean away though. Azazel owned his brother's soul. There was no place his brother could go and be safe. There was no place he could go and be safe so that left making a stand here, for as long as they could.

When the panic room fell and Azazel had him, Sam knew he would go darkside. At least, a part of him would. He accepted that. He would have to in order to beat the demon at its own game. He didn't really grasp what he was doing or how he knew to do it but he took a part of himself, a part of his soul, and buried it deep in Dean's own, secreting it in ways he didn't understand but that he knew would work. His brother probably wouldn't even be aware of it until it was needed. If they survived, if they escaped, Dean might be able to use it to help Sam find his way back to being human because Sam wasn't sure he would be at that point. He trusted his brother would go to any lengths to get the Sam he loved back.

The last of the damaged tissue mended, Sam stroked Dean's hair. "Sleep, Dean. Rest. I'll keep us safe," Sam encouraged and forced his will on Dean. He didn't have time for heroics or worrying about the man at the moment.

He disentangled himself from his brother and looked up at Bobby who stood nearby.

"Get the books with the spells to win back a soul. I need to see the spells. Unload the car. Just dump it all on the ground. Leave. I want you gone. Azazel knows we're here and he's coming. Dean and I will stay in the panic room as long as possible, as long as it will hold up. Go to Jim's. Look after Dad. Tell him…tell him he was right. He had always been right and I was too arrogant to see it. Tell him I love him." Sam paused a moment. "And take him a king-sized Snickers from me."

Bobby, having followed Sam back to Dean had watched the brothers, seen the tears and terror in Sam's eyes and stood by helplessly. His heart clenched at Dean's gasped words. Azazel…. "I'm not leaving you boys!" Bobby said firmly.

Sam stood up, scooping his brother into his arms as he did so. "It's bad enough that Azazel will have Dean to use against me. I don't want to give him you too. Besides, two of us will last longer than three. Do what I say Bobby. I'll have my cell phone. I'll call if I can. Don't believe it if I tell you we won." He leveled his gaze on his friend. "We won't. If I survive, if we survive, we'll come to Jim's. Make sure it's me. Don't trust me. Holy water, silver, everything. Make sure it's me."

"Son," Bobby began, his expression pained.

"We don't have time for niceties," Sam snapped. "I know you care. You know I care. I know you want to try to help but all you'll be to me is a liability I can't afford. So get moving."

Turning from the old hunter, Sam carried his sleeping brother downstairs, laying him gently on the air mattress, pulling a blanket up over him. Shutting the door behind him he went into Bobby's den where Bobby handed him the books Jim had given him. Sam sat down and quickly memorized the spells Bobby marked while Bobby went out to get the supplies out of the car. Sam didn't understand the spells, he didn't know what they meant, but he memorized them anyhow. He would understand them eventually. He pushed those spells as deeply into his mind as he could, hoping Azazel couldn't find them and eradicate or even use them. By the time he was done, Bobby already had what few things he needed gathered.

Bobby glanced around at all the books. All the unique and most important ones he had long since scanned in and had backups in a few different places. Scanning in Jim's books had been one of the first things he had done once he realized just what he held. Bobby pulled a few dusty volumes from the bookshelves and stacks and headed out to his car, whistling for Rumsfeld. Setting the books down gently in the back seat, he shut the door, then motioned Rumselfd to get in the front seat. He rarely took Rumsfeld for a car ride and the dog was so excited Bobby wasn't sure if Rumsfeld was wagging his tale or if his tail was wagging him.  
  
Sam started to hand the Jim's books to Bobby but the man shook his head. "Already got them copied. Take the black box on the third shelf of the north book case, the bottom drawer next to the fridge, the red toolbox in the hall closet, and the box of supplies in my bedroom closet. That and what I have here will have the spell components you need for at least a few of the spells. If the panic room falls, destroy those books, son. Especially this one." Bobby tapped the thinnest book."

"Understood," Sam said and handed Bobby a slip of paper with some information on it. "My storage locker in Montana. It has some stuff in it that might be useful, some personal mementos and some money. I've also listed my bank account that no one knows about and the password. If…if something happens to your house…it should help at least." When he saw the protest in Bobby's eyes, Sam shook his head. "Just in case, okay?"

After giving his old friend a tight hug and a strained smile, he shook Bobby's had a final time. "King Sized Snickers. Don’t forget."

With a sharp nod, Bobby climbed into his car and drove away.

Sam watched Bobby's car until it was out of sight. He looked at all the supplies on the ground. He simply couldn't think about how to use his powers. If he did that, his control went to hell. It was like Yoda said. Do or do not, there is no try. Time was important. He latched on to that and didn't bother to try to focus. He just simply lifted the supplies with his mind and took them inside and down to the panic room. He returned back upstairs to gather his laptop, a few odds and ends, and dumped everything out of the refrigerator he could into bags and hauled them downstairs. He went back upstairs securing the house and in places where the plaster had broken, where sigils had been damaged, he used his own blood to repair them and set down fresh salt lines. He looked out a window. The day outside was clear and beautiful. It would have been a good day to pass a baseball back and forth, or sit on the porch drinking Bobby's sweet tea and relaxing. Shaking his head he quickly gathered the spell components Bobby told him to grab and took every other spell component he could readily find. Bobby had created a handful of darts of poison so he took that and the tranq guns. It took him several trips but he got everything down to the panic room.

He took the time to rig the basement door closed, laying fresh salt and setting several glass bottles along the step. They would hopefully hear the glass break if the door was carelessly opened. Reaching the panic room, he closed the door and bolted its many locks. He shoved all the food into the fridge that would fit. That completed, he looked around. Everything had been done that needed to be done. He and his brother were as safe as possible and hopefully Bobby was out of danger. They had all the supplies they needed for a few months if the room held up that long. Bobby built things right, but Azazel was strong. It might not last more than one blow.

That was Sam's last thought before he saw the ground rushing up to greet him and he collapsed into unconsciousness.


	10. Chapter 10

Blood.  


  
It was all he could taste in his mouth, sharp and bitter copper filling his throat mixed with the acid flavor of pain. It was all he could smell, stale and old like the blood from a long dead corpse. It was all he could feel, coating practically every inch of his skin, dry and itching in his hair, stiff in his clothes.

His body felt like it had been torn limb from limb and then haphazardly stitched back together. Every part of him ached, deep into his muscles, into his very bones. Hurting in ways he hadn't hurt in a very long time. Maybe in ways he never had before. But he couldn't tell if it was a real ache or just a remembered pain. Perhaps it was both.

He wasn't dead. He should be dead. Though his mind felt shattered into a thousand pieces like broken shards of a mirror, somehow he knew that much. He knew he was alive because even as much as he hurt now, he knew he should be hurting so much worse. This pain at least was bearable. The agonies of hell were not. He was not in hell, and that meant he was alive. Somehow…

Slowly Dean forced his eyes to open. At first the dried blood sticking to his eyelashes wouldn't let him. His eyelids might as well have had lead weights attached to them for the amount of effort it took for him to do something so "simple". Focusing his eyes was another matter entirely, but gradually a spinning fan came into view. An iron grate in front of it in the shape of a devil's trap…

The panic room.

Sam…

Dean forced his head to turn. His vision darkened for a few seconds before he managed to focus again, and the sight of the younger man laying still on concrete floor sent a spike of fear driven adrenaline through him like an electric shock. He managed to get his arms underneath him and push himself up from the mattress. Not bothering to try to stand, not sure he could manage it, instead he crawled to his brother's side. His heart rate seeming to triple by the time he got his hands on the younger man and somehow managed the strength to roll Sam onto his back.

It was not so much the bloodied lip and bruise on the younger man's cheek that made Dean suddenly grow cold. It was more the familiar… darkness… Dean suddenly felt. Close. Very close. His father. Azazel… and he was not alone…

"Sam…" Dean whispered fearfully as he tried shaking the younger man awake.

* * *

He was cold. He hurt. He was exhausted down to his very last cell. And somebody had the nerve to try to wake him up? He groaned softly and licked his dry lips. He noted absently that he had at some point split open his lip. Maybe he had been in a fight? He was on his back on a cold hard floor. Maybe he was in jail for being drunk and disorderly? It didn't happen often, but hell, sometimes he did let himself cut loose just a little. His head sure as hell hurt enough for it to be a hangover.

The voice whispering his name seemed urgent and familiar. A comforting feeling washed through him as he finally associated a name with that voice. Dean. A smile drifted onto his lips and he reached out blindly. He wanted a kiss. He wanted his brother to curl up with him and they could both go back to sleep. His reaching hand touched cloth that felt a little stiff. He ran his palm up Dean's arm until he found Dean's neck and tried to pull his brother down into the kiss he wanted. When Dean seemed to resist, Sam's eyes slit open. That's when he felt it.

Sam sat bolt upright, sending his head into a spin and he nearly collapsed right back onto the floor. A darkness was near. A dark evil like he had never in his years of hunting ever felt. His breath caught as he got his hands placed on the floor to steady himself. His gaze went to Dean. Dean was coated in dried blood and what happened all came rushing back to Sam.

"You should have told me why we shouldn't join like that," Sam said, cupping his hand alongside Dean's bloodied cheek and running his thumb over Dean's lips. "I didn't understand. I'm sorry. I was being selfish and bull headed. I am so much like Dad it's almost scary." The fear in Dean's eyes nearly broke Sam's heart. "I screwed up. It's not your fault. He'll get through to us eventually. It's only a matter of time. We both know that. If I hadn't been so stupid, we would still be training instead of hiding. You could be chasing Rumsfeld around the yard. We could be tossing a baseball back and forth. We could be making love. Instead, here we are."

Sam slowly pushed himself up and walked unsteadily over to a pack of moist towellettes. He brought them back and practically collapsed beside Dean. Painstakingly he began cleaning Dean's face. He kissed Dean gently once he had wiped the blood away.

"Don't be stupid, Dean. Beg your father's forgiveness and go back to him. I can't protect you. You can't protect me. No matter what, you're still mine, even if you serve that bastard. Just don't kill Dad or Bobby or Jim, okay? Anything else and you do what he says. Please Dean. Please beg his forgiveness and go back to him. I don't want you hurt because of me."

* * *

Dean breathed a small sigh of relief when Sam began to stir but it certainly was not enough to erase the choking knot of fear in his throat that came with the knowledge that his demon father was so close by. Of course he’d known from the beginning that he couldn’t hide from Azazel forever, he never expected to… But he hadn’t expected it to be like this.

Of course he was afraid for himself. Afraid of the agony he would endure at his father’s, his former master’s, hand. But most of the fear, the sheer mind numbing terror he felt, was completely for Sam.

The peaceful, slow way that Sam woke ground Dean’s already shattered heart into dust. The small smile on his lips, the way he tried to pull him close…

He had failed his brother. He had failed him at every single turn. He had failed to keep Sam safe from Azazel. He had failed to teach Sam how to use his powers so the younger man might have a chance to fight their demon father. He had failed to kill himself to keep his darkness from tainting Sam…

Dean knew the instant that Sam opened his eyes, the way the younger man sat up so abruptly, that Sam finally felt it. Felt him. Of course Sam would be able to feel him. Sam had his father’s blood in him the same as Dean did.

When Sam turned his eyes to him, Dean couldn’t meet them. Looking down at his hands covered in his own blood. The shame of his failure, the strength of his fear, stealing his voice completely. Choking him. Not that he would have known what to say to Sam’s soft words. The younger man’s gentle touch. His brother’s _apology_ to _him_ …

How could Sam be so kind to him now in the face of such failure? Why hadn’t Sam simply let him die? Instead Sam had saved him… Yes, Dean remembered. Only in fragmented pieces, but he remembered. The pain. Dying. Sam using his power to pull him back. So strong… Sam was so powerful it was frightening… and it was that very power, that Sam had used to save his life, that had allowed Azazel to find him. If only Sam had allowed him to die…

Hot tears burned his eyes and left damp trails through the dried blood on his cheeks, but he didn’t bother to try to hide them or wipe them away. The cool touch of the wet cloth on his face, Sam’s soft kiss, nearly broke him.

It wasn’t until Sam’s pleading for him to try to beg forgiveness from his father, to attempt to “save” himself, to leave Sam, that Dean found the strength to look up and meet Sam’s gaze. A small pained smile forming on his lips despite the pain and fear he felt.

“Even if that was possible, if he couldn’t simply look in my mind and know everything I’ve done, I would not. My place is with you.” Dean said softly, growing silent when he felt a slight vibration shake through the floor. Dean looked up. The protections he’d managed to place around the house were strong. The panic room by itself was a near fortress. No, it wouldn’t hold forever. But there was still time…

“There’s still time. I can still teach you. I’m not letting him have you.”

* * *

He shouldn't be surprised that Dean couldn't go back. A small part of him had almost hoped that it had been a trick and that Dean was still working for Azazel and would be safe. That the demon could look in his brother's mind worried him. That meant there was no way to hide how much the brothers loved one another. It also meant the only way to save Dean was to beat Azazel. No, not just beat. Kill. Before the walls fell, he had to get Dean's soul away from Azazel using that spell Bobby gave them. He absolutely had to. That would be the only chance Dean had of not being destined to remain in Hell for eternity. That thought was wholly unacceptable.

Sam jumped a little when he felt the tremor through the floor. He wondered just how long the walls would stand and prayed it would be long enough.

Dean's determination to save him made him smile. He wiped away the fresh tears on Dean's face.

"And I'm not letting him keep you. I'm getting your soul back and we're going to kick his ass. I know when we join, with him owning your soul, it makes me vulnerable, but dammit, when we join we're all but unstoppable. Think what it would mean if your soul was your own, or even if I owned it. We'd wipe the floor with the bastard. That might be why he separated us in the first place. Because he knew just how powerful we would be together."

Sam pulled Dean into his arms and kissed him deeply. When he reluctantly broke the kiss he ran his hair through Dean's blood soaked hair. "I know we don't have much time, but we're both exhausted. A few more hours of sleep can't matter that much can it? I don't know how much I've got in me to train at the moment. But you're the boss. You tell me. Train or sleep? And in either case, you're getting a quick shower and changing clothes."

 

* * *

Dean certainly couldn’t argue with Sam’s reasoning. They were stronger together, they’d already figured that out before. That was almost a frightening thought because even as strong as he’d suspected Sam was, what the younger man had done to save him…

If he wasn’t able to train Sam to control that power. If Azazel was able to turn that power back on his brother. If it consumed him…

A small shiver passed through Dean before he could stop it.

If his soul belonged to Sam, he would no longer be a danger to the younger man. He could help Sam in ways he simply couldn’t now. They could “join” as Sam put it and maybe… Not that Dean really liked the idea of trying to steal his soul away from Azazel any more than when Bobby had first told him about the spells, but they didn’t have much choice anymore. Not to mention the spells were no more dangerous than what would happen to Sam if his demon master got a hold of the younger man.

His heart wrenched a little more as Sam pulled him into a kiss Dean knew he didn’t deserve. But as much as the guilt of his failure to his brother pained him, Dean couldn’t stop himself from kissing the younger man back just as deeply and desperately. Clutching at the younger man as though any second Sam might be ripped from his arms forever... Not so far from the truth…

Dean licked his lips as though to savor his brother’s taste, leaning his head into the light brush of the younger man’s fingers through his hair. Would it matter? No, not really.

“You need to rest. You’ll need all of your energy.” Dean finally said softly. A few hours either way wouldn’t make much of a difference. The spells Dean had placed were powerful. If the demon hadn’t already broken through them, that meant they were holding. Azazel had taught him well. It was probably a good thing that the demon had never considered that Dean might one day betray him…

They had time. Not much, but maybe enough.

Dean looked down at himself when Sam said he should shower and he had to agree. Even by his standards, he was disgusting. He wondered how Sam could even want to touch him. Nodding, Dean started to push himself up off the floor. His body of course protesting every little movement but he managed to get to his feet, even if he wavered unsteadily once he was on them. 

* * *

The relief that filled Sam when Dean said they could rest a little longer made him exhale loudly. God he was so very tired. The thought of trying to train when he felt so completely wrung out was almost frightening. He barely had any sort of control when he was rested.

When he saw Dean was so unsteady on his feet, he rose himself and offered as much of a supporting arm as he could and helped get Dean over to what was little more than a camping shower. He got the thin stream of water flowing and even though it was cold and would be for a few minutes, the water was too precious to waste and he moved Dean under the cold rivulet without letting him undress first.

"Two birds with one stone," Sam said, helping Dean out of his blood soaked clothes, using the opportunity to rinse as much blood as was easily possible out of them while Dean washed off. He watched Dean run the soap across his skin and wished he could be doing that instead of rinsing out blood. Maybe later. If they had time.

He suddenly realized he himself was blood smeared from when he had cradled Dean in his arms and after handing Dean a big towel, he stepped under the shower himself. Crap that was still cold. He made quick work of getting the blood rinsed off of himself and his clothes then used the same towel Dean had to dry himself. He tossed their clothes over some hooks on the walls then guided them both back to the mattress. He handed Dean a fresh sheet out of the supplies Bobby had purchased and then retrieved a thick blanket.

"Lay down," Sam encouraged his brother and as soon as Dean had, he spooned himself up against him and pulled the blanket over them both. He set his watch alarm for five hours later. It would have to be enough.

"We get five hours, then we get to work," Sam said, snuggling up to his brother, holding him tightly in his arms and placing his chin on Dean's shoulder. He nudged Dean as he always had when he wanted a kiss and took the time to extend it, tasting Dean's mouth thoroughly. Who knew when their time together would end and he didn’t want to waste any of it if he could avoid it.

"No matter what happens, I love you," Sam whispered in his brother's ear. He tightened his hug momentarily then closed his eyes. He prayed the walls wouldn't fall while they slept.

* * *

Dean was grateful for the younger man’s help when Sam led him over to the shower. He had to focus practically all his remaining energy just on remaining upright, and he didn’t think would have had any left for actually removing his blood stained clothes without help. The cold water didn’t really bother him, though he missed Sam’s hands on him when the younger man concentrated on washing out his clothes, leaving Dean the task of cleaning himself off. Which Dean did, as quickly and efficiently as possible, knowing now wasn’t the time for niceties.

He took the towel from his brother and stepped out of the way so that Sam could take his place when he was done. Again, he dried himself off quickly, and handed the slightly damp towel over to the younger man once he was done.

Of course Dean couldn’t help but admire his brother’s body, even now, but along with the spike of desire he always felt looking at Sam was a deep sadness at the time they could have spent together and would never have. He’d tried to speak confidently, when he told Sam they still had time, he even tried to make himself believe it, but he knew what the most likely outcome would be… he knew all too well…

He wondered just how far he could go to keep his promise to Sam, to not let Azazel have his brother. Would he be able to when the time came? If it came down to either letting the demon take his brother, knowing the torments Sam would face or… killing Sam… to spare him that pain…

Killing. He’d done it all his life. It had been so long since he’d ever felt hesitation over taking a life… he didn’t know if he could… even knowing how much more merciful Sam’s death at his hands would be than life as Azazel’s slave…

It was those heart crushing thoughts that left him mute, giving only a slight nod when Sam guided him over to the mattress. Feeling numb and almost… empty… as he laid down, even as his brother’s arms circled him with warmth and love. Even when he turned his head at Sam’s urging for the deep, slow, kiss he felt so cold, so sick, so much pain in his chest he could barely breathe.

He was glad that Sam couldn’t see the single tear that slipped from Dean’s eyes, quickly absorbed by the pillow against his cheek. He forced himself to close his eyes even though he wasn’t sure if he’d actually be able to sleep no matter how exhausted he was. But he knew he had to, he had to rest, had to find strength within him somewhere if he was going to be able to save his brother.

One way or the other…

* * *

Almost as soon as his eyes closed, Sam was asleep. He wasn't sure he was particularly grateful for that….

_…he was sitting in the car alone. The soft sound of rain striking the metal roof of the Impala might have been soothing if not for the blowing wind, black shadows, bright sudden flashes of lightning and deep rumbles of thunder. He clutched the stuffed bunny tight to his chest. He looked over at the steering wheel. His father said if he saw anything in the dark he was supposed to press the horn. His Dad was hunting a rawhead. They were bad. They hurt kids, kids that didn't have brave dads to protect them. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and didn't even realize he began to rock a little, trying to find comfort even though he was really scared. He knew his dad would be disappointed in him for being scared. But he was. The sudden thump on the glass of the passenger's side window elicited a frightened yelp from him. He looked up to see a mutilated face that somehow reminded him of his father's but with sickly yellow eyes that glared in at him hungrily. He scrambled over to the horn of the car and pressed it again and again but his dad wasn't there. His dad didn't come. The glass shattered and Sam screamed as the rawhead's claws reached in and grabbed him, dragging him out. He saw his father's broken and bloodied body lying still in the mud by the front fender. "You're mine," the creature purred. "You always were," it told him as it dragged him away into the dark…._

_…it was a werewolf his Dad had told him. He held the .45 loaded with silver bullets loosely in his right hand. He couldn't get any image except the Hollywood werewolf out of his mind. The old black and white version. The werewolves from "The Howling" or "An American Werewolf in London." His father was tracking the wolf and Sam was taking up the rear, trying hard to see whatever mysterious marks his father was following, but it all looked like foliage and dirt to him. He could hear the distant sounds of the traveling carnival and thought longingly of Denise. He had promised her they could go to the carnival tonight, but noooo, his dad wanted him on the stupid hunt. He barely recognized his own voice as he screamed when the weight landed on him, when the claws cut deep gashes into his back, when the teeth tore into his neck. It growled and rolled him over onto his back. The werewolf looked nothing like its Hollywood counterparts. It dug claws into his chest and slowly drew them down toward his abdomen. "I made you," the golden eyed creature hissed. "And you'll serve me…."_

_…he hated fucking ghosts. Pop in, pop out. Disappear, reappear. Evil and angry eyes. Ready to kill, ready for revenge against anyone still alive. His dad had at least let him play in the soccer finals and his team had won. They were busy having pizza at Angelo's while he was stuck with a shovel, helping to dig up fifty year old bones. It was a simple salt and burn. Why couldn't it have waited a few more hours, or better yet, one more day? He felt the shovel his wood. Finally. Maybe they could finish up quickly and maybe his father would let him go to the end of the party. The ground collapsed suddenly and he found himself lying in a coffin on top of a handsome, muscular man with yellow eyes. The man grabbed him around his waist and held him there. He felt the cold spray across his back and smelled the lighter fluid. Salt came after, coating his back. He tried to scream to his father to stop, that he was in the grave, not to burn him but the handsome man covered Sam's mouth with his own, shoving his tongue down Sam's throat. Even while being kissed he could hear the man's voice. "I have such plans for you, Sammy." Then the lit match fell into the hole and the fire flared, his skin blistering and burning while he screamed…_

_…Chains wrapped around his arms and legs. He was face down and spread eagle and naked. He felt the sudden penetration of his ass by another's cock and shouted in pain. "I can't wait to have you, Sammy," the husky voice whispered in his ear as the person fucked him, pounding into him mercilessly…_

_…He stood in front of the mirror, using the razor to sweep over his stubble and the white shaving cream. Finishing up, he splashed water over his face then wiped it clean of the moisture and last remnants of shaving cream with a red towel. When he looked at himself in the mirror, yellow eyes stared back. His own eyes…_

His eyes shot open and he convulsively tightened his arms around the body in his arms, holding it so tightly it was probably painful. His watch alarm suddenly began its beeping and he couldn't do anything but clutch Dean to him and tremble.

* * *

It was so dark. It was so cold. Black. So thick it was choking. Suffocating. Seeping into his skin. Into his muscles. Into his bones. Into his soul. It was everywhere. It was all he could feel. All he could taste. All he could smell. He was so cold. Even despite the warmth wrapped around him, all he could feel was cold.

Rage…

Hot. So hot. Burning like the fires of hell. Consuming him. Melting flesh from his bones. Scorching the very air in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe…

Fear…

He was so afraid of the cold. The dark. The rage. His father… he could feel his father. So close. The intensity of his father’s wrath would have sent even the most powerful demons into fits of weeping and pissing themselves in fear… and right now all that wrath was being directed right at him.

Failure. Betrayal. Weak…

But Dean could feel something else as well. Desire. Insatiable hunger. Not for him. Dean had been the focus of that desire before, but now he was nothing. He was worthless. No, that desire was for something else. Something Dean held treasured above all else.

Sam…

Dean’s eyes snapped open, his heart seizing in his chest like a fist was gripping it and ripping it out. He could practically taste Sam’s fear. His terror. He felt Sam’s almost violent trembling behind him, and rage flashed through him almost enough to match the level of his former master’s.

Dean’s power flared to life and he forced the demon’s presence out of his brother’s mind. Azazel’s power dampened enough by the spells Dean had created and the panic room himself he was able to… this time. As Dean turned in his brother’s arms and embraced the younger man fiercely his power wrapped around Sam in something like a shield, a bubble, to keep it from happening again… for as long as possible. His fingers ran gently through the younger man’s hair as he practically cradled his brother against him.

“I’m sorry… it won’t happen again… I won’t let him touch you.” Dean whispered softly even as he cursed himself. He never should have let it happen in the first place, but he’d been so drained… always failing. Why was he always failing Sam?

* * *

It was like nothing he had ever dreamed. It was so real. When he had gone to Dean in his dreams a part of him knew that was real but that nothing could touch him…except that one time as the scar across his back proved. But these dreams had been…different. He could feel the evil, the desire, the lust. It wanted him. It would have him. It would devour him.

He was a grown man. Dreams shouldn't be able to strike unfathomable fear inside of him. But these weren't just dreams. He had faced demons before, faced black-eyed, possessed people, but he had never felt the depth of evil that had been in his dreams in the form of this yellow eyed beast. He was ashamed of the way he trembled so violently and clutched his brother so tightly but he couldn't help it. This is what wanted him. This is what had reared his brother, abused his brother, turned his brother into a killer. And now it wanted him.

Dean's power practically blinded him, the rage in his brother almost overwhelming and he trembled harder. He knew he had power. He knew he had a lot of power, but he couldn't harness it. When the demon's presence was shoved out of his mind, he knew he hadn't done it. His brother had. He clutched his brother tightly as Dean embraced him and buried his face in Dean's shoulder. The gentle fingers running through his hair comforted him only a little. The small sphere of protection Dean wrapped him in helped a little too as all he could feel was Dean's love and protection. He tried to accept Dean's words as truth but knew in his heart they weren't. Azazel would break through the walls long before Dean would ever be able to teach Sam how to wield his powers. He would be at the demon's mercy and mercy was something he knew the demon didn't have. He had been able to believe he could fight the demon when it was an abstract being, when it was merely some supernatural evil like any other, but now he knew better. He suddenly wished he had never run away from his father, that he had stayed with his father and trained harder. He even wished his father had been more the taskmaster. It wouldn't have mattered of course. It wouldn't have helped him learn to use his powers.

After the adrenaline began to weaken and his shivers faded in the safety of Dean's embrace he pulled back and looked into his brother's caring eyes.

"We both know when he gets through that you aren't strong enough to stop him," Sam said softly, running his fingers over Dean's chest. "Even if I were fully trained, I might not be able to stop him. What…" Sam choked a moment then gathered up his courage to ask what he didn't want to know but needed to know. "What does it want with me? What will it do with me? Can we…will it let us stay together? Do you think I can ask him for that? Or will that just make him make certain I never see you again? How can I make the best deals for both of us to survive him? I said all the wrong things to you when we first met. How can I do better? How can I keep him out of my head? …and I think we better get your soul away from him as fast as we possibly can. I think that needs to be our priority."

* * *

The expression in Sam’s eyes, the defeat he saw etched in every line of his face, dripping from his voice, nearly brought the older man to tears. At the same time it enraged him almost as much as when he’d felt the presence of his demon father invading his brother’s mind. Raping him… and now Sam was talking about simply giving in? After everything? Making a deal with Azazel…

No… NO!

Dean practically growled and before he knew it he had flipped them around so that Sam was pinned underneath him on the mattress. He was looming over the younger man even though Sam _was_ bigger than him. Stronger. Holding the younger man in place not only with his powers but also a bruising grip on his shoulders. Not allowing Sam to look away from his angry, determined, gaze.

“You are NOT giving up! You are NOT going to make any deals with him! You are NOT going to be his!” Dean ground out between his teeth, ignoring practically all of Sam’s questions because they weren’t relevant. Because he was not going to let Azazel have his brother. One way or another he would not!

He knew Sam was afraid. Dean was afraid as well. He was beyond terrified. But he refused to submit to that fear. If one thing all his training had taught him was that. No amount of pain, no amount of fear, could distract him from his goal. And right now his goal was simple. To protect his brother. To protect Sam.

“No. I can’t fight him. Not like this. But YOU can! You ripped my soul out of the grips of hell itself! You have no idea how much power you have, Sam. But now Azazel knows, and HE is the one who is afraid. He knows he has to break you, to make you give in, before you reach your full potential, or you can destroy him.” Dean honestly hadn’t been sure that Sam could actually defeat Azazel, he’d never believed _anything_ could, short of Lucifer himself, until now…

Dean reached up to cup his brother’s face in both his hands, stroking his thumbs over his cheeks tenderly.

“I won’t let him have you. You are mine and I am yours. Always.”

* * *

Dean had him pinned so quickly Sam didn't even have time to react. He felt Dean using his powers to hold him and Dean's grip on his shoulders was painful. He wanted to look away in shame from his brother's furious gaze but he wasn't able to. The power Dean was using on him physically wouldn't let him turn his head or even drop his gaze. He wanted to believe Dean, he desperately wanted to believe him but Azazel was so very strong...and he was suddenly so very afraid. It was as if the demon had found all his secret fears and opened the box that held them without actually releasing the objects of his fears, just the fears themselves and those fears permeated his very being.

He'd saved Dean because going on without him simply wasn't an option. He couldn't lose anyone else. He needed Dean so badly it was almost frightening. But how could the demon be afraid of _him_? Dean had said it himself. Sam wielded his powers like a club and sometimes that club tried to turn itself back on him.

Azazel would want to...break him? His own father had trained him hard, had taught him to push himself and he had spent his share of nights crying because of it, because of moving all the time, because of being lonely, because of aching, because he couldn't ever seem to do a good enough job for his dad. But he also remembered all the strength he had gained watching Dean go through his own trials. Of how to bury pain and fear. At one time it was almost second nature to him too, because he wanted his dream friend to be proud of him as much as he wanted his father to be proud of him. When had he lost that?

He supposed he hadn't lost it, not really. He had certainly faced Dean in the old mill fearlessly. When his emotions took over he knew he was a force to be reckoned with. As ripping Dean's soul out of Hell and bringing him back proved. Was he scary powerful? He had asked Dean that not so long ago and Dean told him he was. But powerful enough to beat something that had once been an angel? Still, the look in Dean's eyes told him his brother really did believe Sam could destroy Azazel. It wasn't merely wishful thinking. Dean really believed Sam could do it, and it was undeniable that Dean would surely know just how strong the demon was.

Azazel would try to make him give in...give in to what? His powers? Azazel's control? Would he trade himself to save Dean? ...Yes. But Dean didn't know how to be free and there was no one else to take care of him. Certainly his father, or even Bobby or Jim would watch over him, but Sam knew Dean wouldn't be happy with any of them as his master. They didn't...understand...like Sam seemed to. And simply put, Dean would expect sex. That's what he was reared with, that it was part of who and what his master was and with his father, Bobby or Jim, he would be forced to be celibate. Not that there was anything wrong with being celibate, but it wasn't something Dean was accustomed to and it would be a hard adjustment. Sam doubted Dean would be gentle with someone he 'picked up' if he would even try to pick someone up. Dean didn't understand. Dean would hate having Jim as his master. Bobby…there seemed to be some sort of level of trust there and one that could grow, and his father? His father would try too hard, would be too impatient no matter his good intentions. It would likely end in disaster. And if Sam owned Dean's soul and traded his own to protect Dean then did that mean, by default, Azazel would once again own Dean? Well if he owned Sam he could simply order Sam to hand over his brother's soul and Sam wouldn't have a choice unless he brokered it into the deal. Dean didn't want him to make deals with the demon but how else could he protect Dean? The only option was he had to learn and learn fast. Would Azazel teach him anything before he was able to control him? If Sam hadn't come into his full potential as Dean put it, by the time the walls fell, could he get the demon to teach him? If he let Azazel use Dean as a tool against him he probably could. But he would need to keep Azazel out of his head or only let the demon see what Sam wanted him to see....

The gentle touches on his cheeks and Dean's firm promises gave him strength. Dean already admitted he himself couldn't beat the demon, yet he promised he would keep Sam safe. How could Sam do any less than try?

Strong emotions enabled him to control his powers, so he focused on pushing down his terror and grabbing hold of Dean's determination and the faith Dean had in him. His control was wobbly at best, but he managed to break the hold of Dean's powers.

"I won't give up. Teach me how to keep him out of my head. Teach me how to keep him from reading my mind, and then help me do the spell to get your soul. Even if we're taken, that will buy me what I need to save us. I will save us Dean. I'll destroy him. For you. I promise you that. I won't deal, and even if he takes me, I won't be his. I'll be yours. Always and only yours." He ran his hand over the side of Dean's face as he smiled with confidence he didn't entirely feel. He pulled Dean down into a kiss. "Always," Sam repeated with determination.

* * *

Dean couldn’t help but smile when Sam took control of his powers and managed to break his hold on the younger man. Unlike before when Dean had told the younger man to do this, he had only been exerting a small amount of power. Making it “easy” for Sam. This time, he hadn’t been. Sam was so much more powerful than he realized. The younger man only had to believe it.

Sam’s promise that he would not deal with Azazel pacified Dean, and he certainly did not resist when the younger man pulled him down into a tender yet deep kiss. Moaning softly in pleasure and love as their tongues met and twined together.

Dean could still feel the rage of his demon father at what he had done, what he was going to do, but Dean did not care. He was going to protect Sam. He was going to teach Sam. Teach him to keep his mind shielded so the demon could not enter it to manipulate his thoughts or his control his actions. He would teach Sam how to use his powers as a weapon, or as a shield. He would teach Sam how to control lesser demons, like hellhounds. He would teach Sam how to kill…

He would even teach Sam the control he needed to use the spells that would steal the ownership of his soul away from his demon father and give it to Sam instead. If it would save Sam, if it would keep the younger man from doing something foolish like bargaining with the demon then Dean would do it.

But one way or another he would not let the demon _take_ his brother. One way or another he would save Sam. Reluctantly Dean sat up and got off of the younger man, smiling down at Sam as he grasped his brother’s hand and pulled him up. Abruptly the smile slid off his face and Dean was all business.

“We need to get started. Get up, get dressed. I will teach you everything I know.” Dean said, as he moved to do the same. He stood and grabbed a pair of jeans out of a bag and put them on. When he turned to his brother his voice deadly serious as he warned, “And I will not hold back any longer. We don’t have time for me to hold back.”

As Dean spoke he called on his power and felt it answer to his commands as effortlessly as always. Crackling around him like dark electricity, ready to strike. There was no time anymore for simple lessons like floating books and that nonsense. He needed to teach Sam how to fight, and the best way to do that was through actual combat.

“Are you ready?”

* * *

When Dean pulled him to his feet, Sam could feel as much as see the change in Dean’s demeanor. Sam dressed quickly in pair of jeans and t-shirt, wondering where they would begin. The hair on the back of his neck rose with Dean’s warning. His mind flashed back to the old mill but then he hadn’t known, or at least had refused to acknowledge he had any power.

He seemed to have better control, and increased strength if he let his emotions rule him and if he didn’t try to make things happen but simply desired for something to happen. He turned to face his brother and could feel the dark power that swirled around the man.

With Dean’s question he took a deep breath. They were going to go head to head. Both of them were going to come away from this hurting.

“Not just yet,” Sam said, the tone of his voice hard, making it clear Dean was to wait. He walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled out the first aid kit. He made sure they had everything they would need fully stocked. Satisfied, he put it back in the cabinet knowing anything loose was a potential weapon or shield. He moved a couple gallons of water into the cabinet beside it, a loaf of bread and some peanut butter, and then grabbed a couple blankets to throw in there as well. He grabbed the mattress and pulled it as out of the way as possible. He considered putting it in the other room, but figured it was probable that their fight would span every open area. The most important things were ready for whenever the battle was over and would be accessible without a great deal of work on either of their parts. Certainly in a real fight they wouldn’t have these luxuries, but they did now and the sooner they could tend one another and get back to training, the better.

He turned from where he placed the mattress. He couldn’t just open up and let his powers flow. He knew he wasn’t ready for that unless his or Dean’s life was in danger. He took a moment to focus himself, to call up his emotions and try to get a handle on what he was about to do. He knew Dean would strike first and he would prefer it that way. He would rather be more defensive this first battle, at least to start out. He focused on the recent deaths that were his fault, on what the demon master had done to his brother, even on what his brother had done to his father. He let it simmer inside him until he felt like he could risk opening Pandora’s Box.

Meeting Dean's gaze with a steady gaze of his own, Sam's face turned hard. He braced himself as he gave a sharp nod. “I’m ready.”

 

* * *

Dean said nothing, merely nodding when Sam asked him to wait. He would give the younger man whatever time he thought he needed to prepare. Even though minutes, hell, seconds were more precious right now than food or water. They couldn’t be wasted.

He had to try to teach Sam years worth of control within hours, maybe days. Even if he had weeks, or months, to try to do it in it would have been a near impossible task. They did not have that time any longer. He could really only hope it would be enough time to teach Sam just enough control that he would be able to face their demon father. Even if he couldn’t teach Sam the fine control that Dean himself had… even battering rams had their uses when pointed in the right direction.

To be honest though, as he watched the younger man moved certain things into “safer” locations so they would not be damaged, he was grateful for the time to prepare himself. He was still a little weak but considering Sam probably wouldn’t be able to match him yet anyway that was probably a good thing. As Sam got stronger, so would Dean recover, and hopefully by that time Sam would have enough control not to accidentally kill Dean.

Not to mention everything inside of him rebelled at the idea of not only attacking Sam but possibly hurting him. He would try not to injure Sam too much, because if Sam was too injured to fight Azazel the whole thing would be pointless anyway. But bruises, cuts, perhaps even broken bones would probably be unavoidable and the very idea made him feel a little ill. But it was necessary. Just like the day they’d first met, when his orders had been to attack Sam in order to awaken his powers…

They would be going much further than that today.

When Sam finally indicated that he was ready, Dean gave a barely perceivable nod. That was the only warning he gave the younger man before Dean lashed out, the black power answering his command without hesitation as he threw his brother clear across the room into the opposite wall with probably a bone jarring force. Dean moved fast, not waiting for the younger man to recover, before he was on Sam, striking out with his fist connecting squarely to his brother’s jaw. As he had promised Sam, not holding back, forcing Sam to concentrate not only on countering his powers but also physical attacks. 

* * *

  
_Fuck!_ was the only thing that came to Sam's mind as he was lifted from his feet and then even that was practically erased from his thoughts as he hit the wall so hard his teeth rattled and the back of his skull took a solid thump to it. He was still reeling when Dean was on him, punching him hard across the jaw. Sam latched on to his survival instinct and let his own power lash out, returning to Dean the gift of flight. Unfortunately he didn't get enough behind it to throw Dean into the far wall and he was still reeling a little from his own impact and blow to the chin. Dean was already on his feet and charging Sam. It wasn't a conscious thought but Sam knew he needed to buy time and the most immediate tool at hand was a metal folding chair. It was behind Dean and he lifted it and slammed it across Dean's head and back. They weren't playing games and Sam knew he could heal Dean if he did any serious damage. At least he hoped he could since he still didn't really know how he did that either.

Dean stumbled, giving Sam that extra second he needed to get his feet under him. Physically Sam knew he was a competent fighter so going in hand to hand with Dean wasn't what he needed even if the man might be able to show him new tricks. It was his mental abilities that needed the workout. He tried to focus on being a battering ram and slamming his powers into Dean's chest and pushing him back. As before, whenever he focused, his powers refused to cooperate and instead he felt them flail like that damned octopus he equated them to, one of his own "tentacles" swatting him even as another couple attacked Dean. He felt the power's hunger, felt it ready to grab and attempt to entwine and devour Dean's. Sam couldn't be certain if that would be very very bad or very very good and decided the former was more likely. Pissed that his own abilities had further increased the ache in his head, he pulled all the tentacles back, fully aware he was vulnerable at the moment and fully expecting Dean to take advantage of it. This fight was pointless though if he didn't keep the dark energy under his control.

 

 

* * *

Dean didn’t let himself feel the regret or pain that attacking Sam like this caused him. It needed to be done and he couldn’t afford any kind of pity or remorse for his brother any more than he would feel for another demon. So even though he was pleased with the way Sam retaliated, hitting him hard enough with his powers to send him flying and landing hard on his back, Dean was up again in a second, snarling. Charging for Sam again, readying for another strike…

The chair that hit him squarely against his back and head surprised him however and sent him sprawling again. The edge of it catching his scalp just right and Dean felt the trickle of blood down the back of his head and neck along with the pounding headache the blow had caused.

Good. But not good enough. As Dean rose again he could feel Sam struggling to reign in control of his powers, and Dean used the younger man’s distraction to his advantage. Though a few of Sam’s wild tendrils of power smacked at him he was able to push them aside easily and he aimed a powerful blow straight to Sam’s chest in return. Knocking the air out of the younger man’s lungs and back into the wall.

“Stop thinking so god damned much! When you breathe, you don’t think about expanding your lungs. When you punch, you don’t concentrate on how every muscle moves in your arm. React! Attack me! Hurt me! If you can’t kill me, you’ll never kill Azazel.” Dean shouted before he used his power to sweep up several canned goods off of a shelf and launched them at his brother. 

* * *

Sam found himself slammed into the wall again and gasping for breath. The chest hit was exactly what he'd been trying to do to Dean and that just pissed him off more. He knew what Dean said was correct but he felt like he was in a dark and unfamiliar room hunting for the light switch.

He had to make his own light but he just didn't know how.

Brute force was an option. He knew he could put Dean on the ground with a mind blast if he opened everything up as he had done twice now. But again, that didn't teach him control. Picking up an Uzi and firing it in every direction didn't teach you how to shoot a gun. Just meant you could pick it up and pull a trigger. That he could do. He need to learn how to aim.

He got thwacked in the face by two of the cans before he realized they were coming at him. Because he was thinking too damned much. And they god-damned hurt. He diverted the rest before they hit him, launching them at Dean in return. He broke the hold Dean had on him that held him against the wall and imagined himself giving Dean the hardest uppercut he could, only he used his powers to do it. When Dean fell back, he pinned Dean to the floor. This was the first time he had tried to hold someone like this so he didn't make any other move, trying to sense how Dean might try to break it, trying to sense if Dean was reaching out with his powers to move something to throw at him, trying to sense any sort of counter attack.

* * *

Dean managed to dodge the cans that Sam threw back at him, unfortunately the momentary distraction allowed Sam to break the hold that Dean was using to pin the younger man against the wall. The incredibly powerful blow underneath his chin completely took him by surprise however, making him see stars and as Dean fell back he tasted blood in his mouth.

The crushing weight on his chest as he was pinned to the floor centered him however and Dean lashed out with a growl. His power twining around the loose tendrils of Sam’s power and squeezing like he was choking the life out of them, and then shoving everything right back into the younger man’s face.

Dean rolled to his feet. Switching tactics again to a physical fight, punching Sam in the stomach and then elbowing the younger man’s back when his brother doubled over. A strong shove, combined with his powers, sent Sam sprawling onto the floor, pinned in place where Dean had just been.

“I said attack me, god damn it!” Dean yelled as he stalked over to the younger man and kicked Sam in the ribs. “Stop holding back! If I have to I’ll kill you! You should have just left me in hell if you’re not even going to try! I’ll just end up back there anyway, but at least there’s a chance you’re soul will be saved!”

Dean didn’t even realize he was saying much more than he probably should as he tried to bait Sam into using his powers like he knew the younger man could. The same way he had baited Sam by using the younger man’s father strung up like a piece of bleeding meat. 

* * *

It was a strange feeling, like Dean was grabbing his arms and twisting them hard only it wasn't his arms, it was his "tentacles" but it hurt a helluva lot more than if it had just been his arms. Then Dean swatted the tendrils aside like they were mosquitoes while Sam was trying to recover from the pain and the distraction it caused. His power slammed back into him just as painfully and he was so busy trying to regain his mental balance that he didn't even begin to try to defend himself from Dean's physical attack. He barely saw it coming.

Fuck, he was still trying to regain the wind knock out of him earlier when the punch to his gut doubled him over and then he was on floor smashing his chin painfully on the concrete as he was held there. His head was pounding, he could barely draw in a decent breath, Dean was yelling at him, and then he felt the blow to his ribs. Nothing broke but Dean had badly bruised them and Sam gasped from the pain.

He wasn't holding back! He was trying to learn! And he was not going to let Dean end up in Hell. No way no how. Dean's words turned his mouth dry. In the pit of his stomach he knew Dean would kill him to keep him from going to Hell. He couldn't very well save his brother if he were dead. Dean wanted a fight? He would god damned give him a fight, fuck learning control.

He opened it up, opened it all up and let it blaze. He lashed out with all his anger, tossed off Dean's hold on him effortlessly and pushed himself to his feet. He twisted a part of his power golden and let it heal him while he kept Dean frozen in place. He could see Dean's power, see the roiling cloud of darkness, see its tendrils. He tilted his head as he studied them a moment, then he let his power do what it had wanted. Twine with Dean's. He wanted to know Dean's secrets of control. He would take those secrets for his own. He drove his power into Dean and sought out those secrets at the very source of his brother's powers…and found it chained, Azazel's mark on every link. Dean wasn't weak. He was shackled and never even knew it.

* * *

He had told Sam that he wasn’t going to hold back. He had warned the younger man that he couldn’t. If Sam couldn’t learn to muster up a defense against _him_ after all there was no hope for Sam lasting more than a second against Azazel. So as much as it killed him, every pain he was causing the younger man perhaps wounding Dean more psychologically if not physically, he kept his promise. Prepared to beat his brother down within an inch of his life if that’s what it took to teach Sam how to use his powers effectively… even to take that last inch if there was no other alternative…

His last threats seemed to get through to the younger man however and Dean wasn’t sure to feel relieved or worried when he felt the powerful release of power from his brother. Sam throwing off his hold like Dean’s efforts to contain him were nothing at all and entwining around him instead making the elder man unable to move a muscle.

Dean couldn’t speak. He could barely breath in fact Sam held him so tightly and no matter how he struggled to break Sam’s power wrapped around him he couldn’t. It was like running into an immovable brick wall.

Despite the fact that Dean was pleased with his brother’s accomplishment and the amount of control that Sam had managed, when he felt his brother’s power begin to twine around his… pushing deep into his mind and soul… like before… Fear instantly replaced any other emotion. Through him, Azazel could reach Sam. No…

_NO!_

Of course Dean tried to resist, tried to force Sam out of his mind, but it was useless. His efforts only causing him pain, like slamming a fist into a wall over and over even after knuckles were bloodied and every bone was shattered in the hand. If Sam’s power still hadn’t been holding all of his muscles frozen he probably would have dropped to his knees in agony by that point.

_Sam… stop… please…_

Dean felt his brother’s momentary shock. His distraction. It wasn’t much, but it was enough, and shoring up every last ounce of power he hand he threw Sam out of his mind with enough force to knock the younger man back physically. Sam’s control over him broken, Dean collapsed to the floor gasping for breath and trembling, blood pouring out of his nose and even trickled from his ears.

“No…” He barely managed to choke out. 

* * *

Sam stumbled back, barely keeping his feet under him when Dean shoved him out of his mind. He didn't think he could be any angrier with the demon for everything it had done to his brother, but this, this was a brand new level of fury. A part of his mind tried to point out if Dean's powers hadn't been shackled, Sam and his fellow hunters would almost assuredly be dead now.

But Azazel gave Dean these powers, trained him mercilessly in how to use them, keeping them bound all along. His brother was right. Azazel was afraid. But not just of Sam. If Sam could break those shackles on Dean's powers that demon bastard didn't stand a fucking chance. He doubted he could break those chains so long as Azazel held his brother's soul, but once they had stolen it away? Maybe the shackles would also fall under the ownership of Sam.

He realized abruptly that Dean had collapsed and was bleeding from the nose and ears. He hardly thought as he rushed to his brother's side and wrapped his healing powers around Dean, gathering Dean in his arms.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered softly, feeling Dean's injuries fade under the golden glow. He ran his hand over Dean's hair. "You told me not to join with you but my powers, they want to. It's hard to stop them." Sam stared into his brother's eyes. "He's chaining your powers Dean. Did you know that? He's keeping you from using most of them."

* * *

Dean felt the warmth of Sam’s healing power wrap around him almost before he felt his brother’s real arms. Both were a comfort and he couldn’t help but sag exhausted into the younger man’s embrace. Marveling a little at the level of control and power Sam was displaying even after one “lesson”. One brutal lesson, but still, no more so than Dean had endured during his own training and it had taken him years to learn that kind of control.

“Don’t be sorry. You did well…” Dean began to wave off his brother’s apology thinking the younger man meant injuring him so badly. Not like Dean hadn’t given Sam just as bad, and Dean had far worse during his own training… but Sam continued and he realized what Sam was really apologizing for. For doing what he’d told him they couldn’t.

Dean didn’t understand why Sam’s powers wanted to join with his so badly, he had never had that kind of reaction before, not even to Azazel. But whatever the reason they had to keep it from happening. If the demon managed to reach into Sam’s mind through Dean’s all their efforts would be meaningless.

When Sam revealed what he had “discovered” for a few moments Dean could only stare at the younger man dumbfounded. Chained? Of course Dean knew his soul was chained, bound, to the demon master he once served. But… his powers…?

“No.” Dean whispered softly. He hadn’t known. He wasn’t sure he even believed it, but why would Sam lie to him? How could his powers be chained? He could use them freely. Azazel had _taught_ him how to control his powers. Why would he chain them? The answer seemed pretty obvious but Dean’s mind simply refused to wrap itself around the idea.

“We should rest a while before we begin again.” Dean finally said as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the younger man’s shoulder. He was reluctant to waste the time, but he was simply too exhausted from struggling with Sam’s power at the end. 

* * *

Sam had to admit, rest sounded good. He felt as exhausted as his brother looked. He was reluctant to get up and leave Dean's side, comfortable with Dean leaning up against him. Looking over at the mattress beside the wall, he tried to focus on moving it over to them and suddenly stopped himself. _Stop thinking so god-damned much._ Dean's words echoed in his mind. He just had to want it there. He couldn't 'focus' on it. He tried to put the desire into his heart, into his mind. And the mattress just sat there. Anger flashed inside of him. He wanted that fucking mattress at his side so he and Dean could sleep on it!

It practically flew across the room and settled beside them. Casting a glare on the blankets by the wall, he decided wanted those too. As with the mattress, they were suddenly beside them.

"C'mon Dean," Sam urged gently. "Get on the mattress." He helped his tired brother onto the air mattress, spread the blankets over them and spooned himself around his brother. He threw his arm protectively over Dean and pulled him close, kissing the back of his neck and then his cheek. "Sleep," Sam whispered.

The last time he had slept he had had those terrible dreams. So he just held his brother against him and tried to rest his body. He didn't want to go to sleep. Maybe after Dean got a few hours of sleep, maybe then he would permit himself to sleep, but not now. He couldn't face those yellow eyes again. At least that's what he told himself as his own hazel eyes drifted closed.

* * *

Dean’s eyes slid open when he felt the flare of his brother’s power and he smiled when first the mattress and then the blankets landed beside them with very little effort on Sam’s part. Remembering clearly how the first book Sam had tried to levitate ended up this was a definite improvement. Maybe he would have time… maybe he would be able to train his brother…

After he slept.

Dean felt like he didn’t even have the energy left to nod when Sam suggested that they move to the mattress. He simply allowed the younger man to get him up and guide him onto its admittedly more comfortable surface. Letting Sam arrange them both and sighing contentedly when the younger man practically wrapped around him.

Despite his exhaustion however he made sure that the web of power he had wrapped around his brother earlier to keep Azazel out of Sam’s mind was still firmly in place. It would remain so, even as Dean slept. He would not let the demon touch his brother in any way.

When Sam whispered for him to ‘sleep’ Dean had barely let his eyes close before he did just that.

***

He wasn’t sure how long he slept, perhaps only a few hours. When he woke however it was to his own gut wrenching screams.

The pain lancing through him was at a soul deep level. He could only equate the feeling to if his skeleton was being pulled out of his skin one bone at a time and on one level of his consciousness that wasn’t completely consumed by the agony of it he remembered telling Bobby how Azazel could steal his soul right out of his body if he wished it… and knew that was what was happening to him now… 

* * *

Sam was surprised that he slept so soundly and without nightmares or even dreams. His mind embraced the rest. While the gold part of his abilities healed him, it still sucked energy from him. He was so comfortably snug up against his brother, feeling his warmth and even his love that it relaxed him into one of the most restful sleeps he thought he had had in days.

At least, until Dean went rigid in his arms and Dean's agonized screams poured from his throat.

He felt it. He could practically see it. Chains and hooks buried deeply in Dean's soul were being tugged tight. Azazel was attempting to reap Dean's soul. No, God dammit, Dean was his! Using his powers he grab grab hold of those chains and of Dean's soul. Azazel was not getting his brother!

Sam's power traveled along the chains to the source and he slammed everything he had into Azazel, absolutely everything. He felt the demon stagger a bit and the grip on Dean's soul seemed to loosen. Back in the physical world, somehow Sam managed to let go of Dean's writhing body while still trying to pull the chains away from the demon, and forced himself to his feet, staggering over to the table where he knew the book was. The book opened itself to the spell. He let his eyes fall upon the spell, every rune immediately understood, every nuance of every word suddenly known. As he read it over, he saw it had all sorts of requirements for spell components. He didn't have the time for such nonsense. He grabbed the first sharp knife he found and returned to Dean's side. He didn't need the spell components. They were used to lock onto the object of desire. He had his desire in front of him. Using his powers he immobilized Dean. He was stretching his abilities to the max and he knew it. He felt he was being ripped in multiple directions: holding Dean frozen, fighting off Azazel, hanging on to the chains, and now beginning to work the spell. He couldn't afford to permit himself thought though. He wouldn't lose Dean. Using the knife he began carving runes into Dean's chest, crimson welling up around each draw of the blade as he chanted the spell that was seemingly etched in his mind.

Azazel gave sharper tugs as he tried to extract Dean's soul and each tug made Dean scream louder. A part of Sam's powers tightened their hold on the chains. He couldn't afford the fight. He simply had to hang on to the chains and finish the spell. Sam chanted loudly, his voice reverberating in the metal walled room. He completed the first half of the spell then turned the knife on himself. He inscribed his own chest with similar runes and he chanted, barely feeling the pain of each slice of the blade. Blood streamed down his chest as the ancient tongue spilled from his lips. The magic swirled darkly, a tornado of energy that joined in Sam's fight for the tug of war for Dean's soul.

Sam finished the last syllable of the spell and put every last dram of his power into it. The chains quivered and stretched and Dean's screams heightened.

**_Mine!_** Sam demanded and yanked hard. The chains snapped suddenly and those still attached to Dean withered to dust. His own powers dove into Dean, wove their hooks deep into his soul, wrapped and connected chains tightly seemingly everywhere.

A slow smile spread across Sam's face. He owned his brother's soul now. Dean was his. All his. That was all his mind could think as he slowly crumpled to the mattress, blood pouring from his nose and ears and even his golden-sheened eyes.

 

* * *

Even after all the pain that Dean had endured through his life, nothing had prepared him for this. Even the agony caused by the demon poison that the hunters had created seemed pale by comparison. It was the kind of pain that could drive someone insane. It was the kind that could kill a man even before the wounds themselves did the job. The kind that made him wish his heart would simply explode or stop all together just so the agony could end.

Thinking was beyond him at that point. Understanding what was happening, what was going on around him, impossible. He just wanted the pain to end. He didn’t care how. Please…

If he thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, he was wrong. Suddenly he was being torn in two different directions. Torn in ways he thought only damned souls in hell could have possibly understood. His own screams deafened him. His own body the enemy as it seized, convulsing so hard his own muscles threatened to shatter his bones underneath.

Then he was pinned. Held completely immobile and that was worse. With no other outlet for his pain he could only scream louder, his throat already raw and bloody, he practically choked on them. Of course he felt the knife drawing the wounds into his chest, but they were inconsequential. Like pricking your finger or receiving a paper cut. Though it didn’t only feel like his body was being carved. He felt it deeper. He felt every carve deep into his soul. Already wounded and bloody and torn to shreds Dean could only whimper pathetically as he silently begged for the torture to end.

He didn’t know what, if anything, would be left of him after this. He honestly didn’t care. The final pull in both directions on his soul was so agonizing it was probably a good thing he could not move because he probably would have broken every bone in his body otherwise. When the chains on one side finally broke free, he honestly did not care who had won. He felt the new chains winding around and through him, closing in the ripped bloody holes left behind and Dean could only curl himself into a trembling ball and weep.

When unconsciousness finally slid over him like a warm comforting blanket he didn’t even try to fight it. 


	11. Chapter 11

He hurt. Every inch of him. His head throbbed like the ten worst migraines he had ever suffered all rolled in to one. His chest felt like it had been carved up like a Christmas turkey. Every muscle felt strained and overworked. It hurt to even open his eyes.  


  
Sluggishly his mind struggled to put the pieces together of what had happened. A strange almost tangible connection to Dean was in his mind. Suddenly he was exactly aware of him in a way he never had been before. He felt Dean's pain, but in an abstract sort of way. He was simply 'aware' of it. He forced himself to sit up, the room spinning badly as he did so.

Curled up into a protective ball on the mattress was his brother. It seemed to take everything he had but he dragged himself over to Dean, fighting off the vertigo as the room twirled around him. As he grew closer to Dean, that connection seemed to grow stronger. He practically collapsed next to his older sibling and ran his fingers through Dean's hair. On Dean's chests runes had been incised…like the runes on his chest…and it all slowly dribbled back into his brain. He tried to wrap his healing power around them both, but nothing came. He was totally and completely spent.

The best he could manage was to pull Dean into his arms and plant light kisses on his brother's cheeks. He could taste the salt and knew his brother had been crying. His heart twisted in his chest. Tears. He never wanted to hurt his brother but he had. Surely, it had been to save his life, but he still regretted the pain. His brother's soul…he possessed it now. Bad enough he was Dean's 'master' but now he actually _owned_ a soul. That was wrong, so terribly wrong.

"Please God, forgive me. I couldn't let him take Dean. It was all I knew to do. Forgive Dean for everything he's done. It wasn't his fault. It was never his fault. Forgive us both," Sam prayed softly. He kissed Dean's lips. "And forgive us for loving each other like we do. I know we're brothers, but he completes me. I hope this is part of Your plan. Give me the strength to fight the demon and forgive me for any sins I commit in doing so. Give me the strength to kill that bastard. If I die, if Dean dies, please keep us from Hell's grasp. Please grant us Your mercy and bless us with Your grace. Amen."

Rumbling seemed to come from all around the room and he clutched Dean a little tighter to him. He watched in horror as the walls to the panic room bent, rivets popping in random directions. The door made an ear rending screech as it twisted then was torn from its hinges. Sam's breath froze in his chest as the feeling of pure evil rolled into the room and his gaze met golden eyes.

* * *

Dean remembered the first time he had been whipped.

He had been four years old. He had been crying to go home to his mommy and daddy. Only mommy was dead. He had watched her die. He had heard her scream in Sammy’s room. He had been in the hallway. He knew he was supposed to be in bed, but something had woken up. He’d been worried about Sammy… and he had watched from the doorway as his Mommy’s belly was cut open. She was on the ceiling and he had watched her bleed down onto the floor by Sammy’s crib.

Then the man with the yellow eyes was there. He had screamed then. He had screamed for his daddy. Sammy started crying… He missed Sammy. He missed his mommy and he missed his daddy. His real daddy, not the man with the yellow eyes who told him to call him “father”.

He had told the man he wasn’t his daddy… that was when the whipping started. It didn’t stop until he finally called the yellow eyed man father. But he didn’t call him daddy…

Dean remembered most of his punishments. He remembered being punished because he didn’t train hard enough. Because he had disappointed his father. He remembered being beaten, and whipped, and cut, and the branding afterwards to stop the worst of the bleeding. He remembered when one punishment when he had dropped his knife while he had been practicing. He’d dropped it because his fingers had been so numb from cold, but not numb enough for him not to scream as every bone in his hand was broken. He remembered the pain of from the first time his father had taught him how to “please” him. He remembered how he had thrown up afterwards because he hurt so much, and the beating he received afterwards.

So much pain… his body remembered so much pain, but it was still nothing like this. He didn’t know at first what had woken him from the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness, but he resented it immediately. At least until he realized what the warmth wrapped around him was, what the soft touches to his face were, who the soft whispering voice belonged to.

Sammy… his Sammy…

Slowly he began to realize all the hurt he felt wasn’t only his own. Sam was hurt. Sam was in pain. That was enough to push his tortured mind closer to consciousness no matter how much it didn’t want to. He was still slow to realize what was happening. That the loud thumping noise wasn’t the pounding beat of his own heart. That the tortured scream he heard wasn’t of a person but metal ripping and tearing at the seams.

Dean’s blood froze in his veins as a cold darkness swept through the room that he knew all too well. The protection of the room destroyed, shattered, by an evil power greater than most human minds could comprehend.

Days… the most powerful spells Dean knew, the iron, the protective symbols, they had not even lasted days…

“You’ve been a very bad boy, Dean.” The soft measured words caused the temperature in the room to drop several more degrees. Dean didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to see his father’s face staring down at him and his brother but he had to. The rage he saw in those fiery golden eyes was too terrifying for Dean to even tremble in Sam’s arms. 

* * *

Sam forced himself to his feet, swallowing back the bile as his stomach threatened to rebel. It was probably a good thing he hadn't managed the strength to get to food to feed his starving body. It would surely be on the floor now.

The evil he felt emanating from the man frightened him like he had never been frightened before. He had promised Dean he would fight. He had promised Dean he wouldn't give in. For his brother he would be strong. For his brother he would find a way to kill the demon. Never mind he barely had the strength to stand and that all of his energy had been spent stealing Dean's soul from the demon. He would find a way to keep his promises. He would find a way to be strong in the face of his sheer terror. For Dean.

He stayed on his feet by sheer force of will. Every movement hurt and some of the wounds on his chest broke open when he moved, fresh rivulets of blood drizzling down his chest. He felt like he had been run over by a truck. Even so, he would not let Azazel touch his brother. He placed himself between the demon and Dean.

"He's mine now. You've no right to him," Sam said, surprised to hear his voice as strong sounding as it was. "By the old laws, he neither serves you nor do you own him." Sam leveled his gaze on the yellow eyed man. "You can't touch him."

 

* * *

Dean felt frozen. Pinned in place like an insect with a needle jammed through its body on display and just as helpless. He had talked so bravely to Sam before about fighting Azazel. About killing him. Telling Sam he was stronger. Promising not letting the demon lay a hand on his brother… and now when faced with his demon father, the one who had raised him, tortured him, taught him to kill, and fear, and obey his every command… all Dean felt was helplessness…

Sam…

He could tell Sam felt it too. Dean could _feel_ Sam's fear. It was just as intense as his own. Yet, Sam rose. His brother stood in front of him, as though he could protect him. _Sam_ protecting _him_. As though he even needed protecting. As though the demon wanted _him_.

Azazel no longer wanted him. His father no longer needed him. He was worthless…

The demon wanted Sam…

Those golden yellow eyes shifted away from Dean to look at Sam and if possible Dean's fear only grew. However it was no longer fear for himself, but for his brother, his lover, his master and as one fear canceled out the other he felt the paralysis over his limbs vanish. He shoved is arms underneath his body, not caring in the least how much it hurt to move as he began to push himself up onto his knees.

Azazel stared at the younger man, a cold smile curving his lips at Sam's declaration.

"Is he now?" He asked, almost curiously, before the demon laughed in genuine amusement. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy… You certainly haven't disappointed me."

The demon took a step towards his brother. The iron floor of the room hissing under its feet and Dean could feel the other demons waiting just outside, beyond the destroyed wall that used to be the door that led to the basement. Still unable to enter. Azazel's eyes roamed hungrily down the length of Sam's body before they met the younger man's eyes again with a searing intensity.

"You want him? Very well. If you agree to take his place, if you come with me without a fuss, you can have him. He'll be yours to do with however you like. No one will lay a hand on him." The demon practically purred, reaching a hand out to the younger man. "Do we have a deal, Sammy?"

* * *

Sam gave the demon a tight smile and ignored the outstretched hand. "It's 'Sam.' I would disappoint you if I said yes to that pathetic offer. I already own him. He's already mine. Don't treat me like I'm stupid Azazel."

He had promised Dean he wouldn't make a deal with the demon, but what choice did he have? It was taking everything in him just to stand. Azazel had him by the shorthairs. He could tell the demon to go fuck himself, but all Azazel really had to do was toss them across the threshold and the others would be on them. They were prisoners. The shackles just hadn't been put on them yet.

It was possible that the demon couldn't make them leave the room unless they did so willingly, but the bastard could simply gut them inside the room. He supposed the thing in front of him could be an illusion trying to sucker them to leave, but he doubted it.

"I won't be your slave, and I won't give you my soul. Make me an offer that doesn't insult my intelligence."

Even at full strength, no matter what Dean said, it unlikely that he would be able to beat Azazel without more training. As unsavory as it was, there was only one way to get it at this point.

 

* * *

Dean’s heart seized a little in his chest when he heard the “offer” that the demon made to Sam. The deal. Despite his brother’s promise to him earlier that he would not make a deal with Azazel, the fear in his heart now that Sam would break that promise was very real.

“No…” Dean managed to groan out, clenching his teeth in pain. Sam’s reply to the demon, his refusal, not at all easing that fear. Especially when Azazel’s response to the younger man’s bold reply was to throw his head back and laugh. From beyond the threshold the other demons joined in that laughter.

Azazel dropped his hand, his yellow eyes glinting with amusement and Dean knew from experience that was never good.

“And here I thought you _were_ smarter than that, Sammy. How’s this for a better offer?” Azazel’s eyes suddenly shifted to him with murderous intent and suddenly Dean couldn’t breathe. It felt like a barbed wire was being wrapped around his throat and he suddenly found himself lifted up off the ground, his feet legs kicking uselessly in mid air as his fingers clawed at his throat.

The demons beyond the room laughed louder. Azazel merely watched him choking with a bored expression before turning his eyes back to Sam.

“Stop me if you can, tough guy.” However the words were barely out of the demon’s mouth before Dean watched in horror as Sam was thrown back against the far wall of the room and pinned there by Azazel’s power. “Or watch him die.” 

* * *

Sam felt his blood ice as the demon laughed.

Demons always countered with death. That's what Dean had done when Sam offered himself in exchange for his father. And now Azazel threatened his brother. There was no dealing with demons if they had anything to hold over you, and why would you deal with a demon if they didn't have something in the first place that you wanted. Fucked was an understatement. He started to move to stop the demon, or to help his brother, _something,_ when he found himself thrown into the far wall and pinned there, Azazel's challenge ringing in his ears.

Red fury filled him, all but blinding him. He had fought too hard to save his brother to have his brother die at the hands of the demon. His mind grabbed onto the chains that led to Dean's soul, let his and his brother's powers twine and he dove inside Dean's mind. The terror he felt in Dean only infuriated him more. He found those chains that bound Dean's powers which were marked with Azazel's energy. Thin threads led back to the demon master and Sam latched onto them hungrily. He drank down what energy he could siphon, feeling the links binding Dean's powers shatter as he absorbed more and more energy from the demon. With his new found strength he threw Azazel back into the wall and pulled himself free of the dark power that pinned him. He called Dean to him as he broke the demon's power choking the life out of his brother. Dean's body was suddenly in his arms. He cradled his gasping brother, and glared with fiery hatred at Azazel.

"No one touches him. My soul's not for sale," Sam snarled.

 

* * *

  
_He had to do something… He had to do something! He had to help his brother! He had to save Sam! Nothing else mattered, god damn it!_ Those words echoed over and over in his mind even as darkness began to edge around his vision as Azazel proceeded to squeeze the life out of him. As he watched Sam struggling, helpless, against the demon’s power holding him.

And yet, he couldn’t do _anything_ …

Dean didn’t care what happened to him, but he couldn’t let Azazel have Sam. That meant he had to fight! He had to! He had to forget all of his training that had rushed right back to the surface at the sight of his former master. Like a dog trained not to turn against its master no matter how badly it was abused. That was Dean right now. It was instinct. Like breathing or the beating of his heart.

But Azazel was no longer his master. The demon did not even own his soul any longer. Sam did. He would save Sam. He would!

Yet before Dean could do anything he felt his brother’s power flooding his mind. He felt the younger man’s powers tangle with his own, like he had warned Sam not to do before, but now it didn’t matter. Dean was Sam’s. And as their powers flowed together so that one was barely distinguishable from the other he felt them both growing stronger from it.

Stronger together than apart…

He could feel Sam siphoning off the energy from Azazel through Dean. Dean shuddered as the dark energy flowed through him, into Sam… but as much as he feared what this power would do to his brother he could do nothing to stop it.

In seconds the tables were turned. Sam had directed that power back at the demon, throwing Azazel back, breaking the demon’s hold on himself and Dean, and Dean knew many of the demons surrounding them had to be as shocked as he was. As Azazel surely was.

Dean gasped and choked for breath in his brother’s arms. Held protectively.

Unfortunately it did not take long for the demon to recover. The golden yellow eyes locked on them was filled with so much murderous fury at that moment Dean was afraid that Azazel would give up on his plan to take Sam alive and simply strike them both down where they stood. The dark energy Dean felt filling the room certainly seemed to support that theory. The white blinding blast of light aimed at them was certainly just for that purpose.

Dean reacted without thought. Protect Sam. That’s all that mattered. Dean threw up a shield around them, and struggled out of Sam’s arms to wrap around him instead. Protecting his brother with is body even as his powers tried to protect them both from the blast. The energy from Azazel hitting his shield with a force of a freight train, cracks already beginning to appear along its surface, threatening to shatter.

* * *

Sam didn't have enough left in him to keep the demon pinned. If he had managed to steal more away, or if Dean wasn't as exhausted as he was and he could steal from Dean, then maybe he could have. He most certainly didn't have a clue how to kill the demon.

He met the golden eyes with his own fury and anger. He would deal with the demon. He didn't have a choice. That little stunt had only bought them time. But he had made it perfectly clear his two rules. He kept his soul and no one touched his brother…

Then the room grew cold.

It was like an electrical storm. Every hair on him shifted restlessly, every nerve prickled. The room filled with a terrible dark evil and Sam found it hard to breathe. A part of him thirsted for that darkness while another reviled it. Sam barely realized what was happening as his brother struggled free. One moment he was holding his brother, the next moment his brother was wrapped around him, protecting him from the blinding blast. He could sense the shield Dean erected and he could sense it was failing. He poured what little he had left, everything he had left, into his and Dean's connection, feeding Dean all his strength.

The shield held. The light faded and they were still alive. Sam looked into his brother's eyes.

"I love you," he whispered. That was all he managed before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed in Dean's protecting arms, unconscious.

* * *

Dean knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold the shield. It would collapse and he and his brother would be burned away to nothing but ash. Maybe in hindsight he should have let it happen, simply let the demon kill him and his brother, but he had reacted upon instinct. His instinct to protect Sam in that moment outweighing anything else, even the knowledge that protecting Sam and saving Sam were unfortunately two completely different things.

He might have protected his brother only to damn him…

All of this went through Dean’s mind only _after_ the powerful blast began to fade. After his brother had given him every last dram of power he had to help him hold the shield that had protected them both. Only after Sam’s soft whispered words and when the younger man slumped unconscious in his arms. Only after he heard the amused laughter of his father standing close behind him…

He’d failed. He’d promised Sam he would save him, protect him, and he had failed. There was only one thing… one thing left… and as he cradled his defenseless unconscious brother in his arms Dean wished again he’d simply let the demon kill them both. Because even as he cradled the younger man in his arms and determination filled his eyes he didn’t know if he was going to be able to…

“I always knew Sammy boy was the one. The strongest. The best of the best. And you’ve handed him right to me, Dean. Not exactly in the way I was planning, but this is so much better.” The demon mused, almost to himself. Dean turned his head to look up at the demon, his father, a mixture of rage and fear on his face, and Azazel chuckled again.

He didn’t have his knives on him, they were buried somewhere under the ruins of the room around them. He didn’t have any weapons, he didn’t even have enough strength left to use his powers, but he didn’t need them to kill. Quick. Painless. All he had to do was snap his neck… Sam would never even wake up…

Yet even as he found the resolved to do it, even as he shifted his hold on Sam to carry out the horrible deed, Azazel must have sensed his intent because suddenly he was thrown back away from his brother. His body impacting with the wall with a bone jarring force and he was barely conscious enough to hear the demon making a soft tsking sound.

“Bad move, Dean-o. Very bad. But you might still be of some use to me…” Azazel chuckled again, and that was the last thing Dean heard. 

* * *

Blood. Vomit. Rotting flesh. Those were the things Sam smelled as he slowly climbed his way back to consciousness. Sounds that he finally recognized as distant screams echoed in the room. All of him hurt, but his aching shoulders stood out as the most painful. He opened his eyes and slowly got his feet under him. He was naked in the middle of a well lit room, his wrists shackled, the chains leading up to a ring bolted into the ceiling. When he was standing the chains were long enough that he could bring his hands down just below shoulder level. Long dried blood coated the floor and there were piles of things Sam didn't want to particularly identify scattered here and there in the room.

He licked his dry lips and saw the pitcher of water, its glass sides dripping with condensation as the ice inside slowly melted, sitting on a table not far away. He obviously couldn't reach it, chained as he was. Trying to call up his powers he could feel them stir, but not enough for him to levitate the water over to him to ease his painful thirst. He stomach gnawed, discontent, on his backbone. He wasn't really sure when he last ate and 'starving' felt like too inadequate a term to use.

In his mind he could sense Dean's presence nearby. His brother was in pain, a lot of pain. He slowly shook his head. He had given Azazel the perfectly obvious tool to use against him. No one was to touch his brother. So obviously, Azazel would. His soul was not for sale. Obviously, Azazel would demand it. He was such a fucking idiot. The demon had been right. No matter what he had promised Dean, he should have simply agreed to take Dean's place. Dean would be safe and he would be learning how to use his abilities. Fucking idiot was too gentle a term he decided. So what now? Take whatever deal Azazel offered him? If he sold his soul to Azazel, he was damned and Dean right along with him.

He nodded slowly to himself. No matter the cost, his soul was not for sale. He would serve the bastard, but would not give up his soul. If…if he did, if he convinced Azazel to set Dean free, to transfer Dean's soul to Bobby, maybe Dean could steal Sam's soul from Azazel…If Dean's powers we no longer chained, Dean was probably going to be a helluva lot more powerful. The demon had trained him well. Dean could surely do it.

Sam examined the shackles. There wasn't a key. They were welded closed. He studied one of the links and tried to make it twist open, but as before, he was still too tired to be able to wield his powers. His head snapped up when he heard the door open.

Azazel stood for a moment in the doorway, a smile playing at his lips.

 

* * *

Patience wasn’t a virtue shared by many of his brethren, but Azazel had not survived over the eons, had not gotten to where he was, so close to his goal, without being patient. As he stared at the limp form of his adopted “son” hanging in shackles, watching the blood dripping down his face and bare chest, and listened to his weak wheezing breaths, the demon mused on how all of his plans… well, had not gone according to plan. Almost from the very beginning…

Dean. The boy shouldn’t have even existed. Imagine his surprise when he’d entered the Winchester household that night. His only goal had been to give the infant boy a small taste of his demon blood, as he’d done to countless other children. His blood, the blood of a fallen angel, which would give the boy near unlimited power beyond that of any human.

However he’d known from the beginning that Sam would be even more special. Because of his mother. Sammy was his pick. The others were more of a test than anything else. Experimenting. He knew once they all came of age, once their powers matured, that Sam’s would outshine them all. He was counting on it…

What he wasn’t counting on was the second child in the Winchester household. The boy who had wandered in wide eyed at his mother’s screams. Azazel had been shocked by his appearance, surely. All the other children were first born. In one rare case, twins. This boy… this boy was completely unexpected.

Azazel had taken the boy almost on a whim. Curious more than anything, and the opportunity simply too good to pass up. He’d fed the boy large quantities of his blood. He’d trained him. Raised him. More as an amusing way to pass the time than anything else, at least at first. The way Dean had taken to his training, the way his powers had developed, was frankly astounding. In fact, he’d had to chain a good portion of the boy’s gifts, worried his pet’s powers might one day even exceed his own. Dean had been the perfect slave. A lethal killer, and certainly well suited for any other amusements his master wished him to perform.

Still, as impressed as Azazel had been with Dean, the boy was not his first pick. He considered Dean more of a rough draft than anything.

Sending Dean after his own brother had been like killing two birds with one stone. Awakening Sam’s gifts and having Sam kill his own brother would set the boy well on the path Azazel needed him to be on… Again, things had not gone to plan.

But as Azazel turned his back on the human boy he’d raised, Dean’s screams following him out of the cell as one of the torturers began using the whip on him again, he mused that this outcome might just work to his advantage. The deep caring Sam had for his brother would make him vulnerable. Dean was just the leverage he needed to force the younger man to obey him. Serve him. To become everything that Azazel had already turned his older brother into, and more. Once he was done, he would have no further use for Dean.

However if he had both of them… nothing would ever stand in his way again. Nothing.

Azazel smiled as he arrived at the door to Sam’s cell. The demon in charge of guarding the young man opened the door for him and he was pleased to find Sam awake.

“Welcome home, Sammy.” 

* * *

Sam glared at Azazel. He was fucked. The demon knew it as readily as he did. So what did he do? Ask for the original deal? He wished Dean had taught him how to 'deal' with demons. Whatever he asked for, it was unlikely he would get unless he offered up something valuable, something the demon wanted. If he asked about Dean that only confirmed what the demon already knew. He could tell Dean was being tortured even now and some of the screams he heard were surely his brother's. He wanted to rip Azazel apart. Someday he would. But not today.

So how to deal with him? Demons apparently didn't like arrogance. His eyes narrowed, recalling the way Dean had been once he decided Sam was his master. Obedient to a fault. Doing anything Sam asked. Trying to anticipate what Sam wanted. He laughed bitterly to himself. Obedience wasn't something he was great at. He railed against his father as he got older, resisting everything his dad wanted him to learn or do.

For Dean, he would do what he had to. Even this.

Head bowed, Sam went to his knees, even though it meant his arms we above him and his aching shoulders protested. He tried to keep the resentment out of his voice but didn't think he did a good job of it. "Thank you, Father," Sam grit out.

 

* * *

The demon couldn't help but chuckle at Sam's suddenly all too submissive attitude, a far cry from his posturing from before. It was nothing but an act, of course. The proud young man wasn't the least broken or submissive to him. Sam couldn't keep the defiance out of his voice even as he pretended to submit.

Still, it amused Azazel and he couldn't deny how pleasing to the eye his newest "son" was right now. Naked and kneeling on the bloodied floor, his head bowed, and the demon couldn't help but wonder how far Sam would take this little act. Would he lift his head like a good little boy and suck his cock if Azazel told him to?

The demon approached the young man, putting two fingers underneath Sam's chin and lifting Sam's face up to him. Oh yes, he could definitely see himself enjoying fucking that defiant little mouth.

"Taking lessons from your brother, Sammy? He was always such a good little whore." Azazel remarked, enjoying the fire that burned in the younger man's eyes when he spoke of Dean like that. The demon ran his thumb over Sam's full lower lip before shoving the young man's face hard enough that if his arms weren't chained above his head he probably would have toppled over.

"I guess you know that, though, don't you? Had a taste of him yourself, did you? Tut tut, Sammy. Didn't you hear? Incest is a sin." The demon's smile turned cold.

"I don't need another whore. I need a soldier. An obedient one." As Azazel spoke, the door to the cell opened and two demons entered rolling in carts filled with various implements of torture. The demon walked over to one of the carts and picked up a long whip.

* * *

Sam waited, head down, for whatever the demon chose to do. He hoped his submission would put the demon in a good enough mood he could ask to see Dean, ask for Azazel to stop the tortures they were wreaking on his brother. Maybe the demon would offer a deal Sam could live with. Azazel's amusement he hoped was a good sign.

Sam ground his teeth as the demon approached. He needed food, water, and more rest to get his powers back up to anything approaching strength. Maybe he could ask for those as well. At least some water. He was so damned thirsty.

It took great restraint not to jerk away from the demon's touch and let the demon tilt his head back so Sam was looking into Azazel's face. To hear the demon speak of Dean the way he did only fanned his anger. He didn't react as Azazel ran his thumb over his lower lip. The creature had used Dean as a sex toy. Sam resigned himself to also being used that way. If the demon wanted Sam to pleasure him… he would force himself to do it. Or let the demon take pleasure from Sam's body. Besides, he could hope if he did a good enough job, Dean might be left alone.

He was startled when Azazel shoved him away and he couldn't stop the gasp as his tender shoulders took the sudden shift in his weight. He glared defiantly back at the demon, forgetting for the moment he was supposed to be submissive. Whether incest was a sin was between him and God. There were rare cases where God permitted incest and he could only hope he and Dean might fall into that category. He has asked for forgiveness and according to scripture, all one had to do was ask and mean it. Of course, that also meant he should not do it again, but the way he and Dean were connected, it seemed as if God accepted they would be together as lovers.

Azazel wanted a soldier? Just like his real father. And that hit a nerve in him. Was that all he was ever meant to be? A good little obedient soldier? Well he sucked at the obedient part.

His eyes fell on the implements on the carts and felt his blood run cold. He climbed to his feet and rose to his full height. Oh, fuck no. He had seen his older brother when they were younger, seen all the terrible things done to him. He recognized more of the tools on those carts than he ever wanted to acknowledge. He watched as Azazel picked up the whip and turned to him. There was fear in his eyes and he knew it, but he couldn't hide it. Azazel didn't even offer him a deal. Didn't offer him anything. Merely moved behind him and the first crack of that stinging strike across his back brought a cry of pain from his throat as his skin split open. Soon there was nothing but blinding pain, the wetness of his blood pooling on the floor, joining that already there. His screams echoed in the chamber with every blow. He should have known better than to beg the demon to stop. He had seen what they had done to Dean when Dean had asked for such things. Soon his voice was lost to the even more brutal attacks. He hung by his wrists, tears streaming down his face, silently screaming with every new vicious blow.

* * *

Azazel looked down at the bloodied, beaten, young man with a pleased smirk playing across his face.

Virgins.

The first time was always the sweetest. The first time they felt the fire of the lash across their skin. The first time his knife leaving beautiful bloody designs in flawless skin. The first time they smelled their own flesh burning because of the brand… always so perfect. He loved the startled, surprised, and pained screams they made the first time. It never took much that first time to make them cry and beg for mercy.

Over time many got used to the torture, conditioned to withstand the pain, and it would take more and more to make them scream. The same amount of torture that would probably kill a man the first time, they could endure, and it never failed to amuse Azazel to work someone up to that point. But the first time was still his favorite.

The demon ran his fingers almost tenderly through the sweaty bloody hair of the younger man before he stepped away returning the now blood coated whip to the cart.

“As you can see, Sammy, disobedience and defiance has its consequences.” Azazel said softly, almost as though he were comforting a small child. He walked over to the table where the pitcher of ice water still sat and poured a large glass. He took a sip from the glass with an audible sigh of pleasure, before he returned to Sam’s side.

“But obedience and loyalty has its rewards…” The demon said as he held the glass to Sam’s lips to drink. 

* * *

He didn't know how long it went on. He lost count of the times the whip struck his back. Each time it did, he prayed it would be the last. He hardly noticed the bite of the shackles into his wrists or they way his shoulders hurt every time the the fire struck his back and he jerked. Then the lashing stopped. He gasped, his face creased with pain. His back still burned as if the whipping continued. The blood seemed to be a steady stream from his back. He wondered how it was possible he hadn't lost enough blood to fall unconscious. He wondered how the pain hadn't made him black out. But at the moment he was just grateful to try to take in a breath that wasn't exhaled as a scream. It was over. It was finally over.

He didn't even feel the heat before the hot brand was pressed against his back. A scream he didn't think was left in him was ripped from his already raw throat as he arched away the burning agony, his eyes widening as he tried to find the strength to get away from the hot metal. His own blood coated the floor, making it slick and gave him leverage. The brand was pressed against his back again and again. He whimpered and begged again for them to stop, forgetting what happened when he begged. Azazel reminded him. The brand had only been held against his skin briefly until he asked them to stop. With that request, Azazel pressed the hot metal against his raw flesh and held it there. Sam twisted and writhed, biting his lip bloody to keep from again asking them to stop. The smell of his own burned flesh was almost enough to make him wretch. The sound of its long drawn out sizzle was horrifying to hear. Azazel pulled it away and Sam thought some of his own flesh was pulled away with it, but then it was held against him again and pain was all that filled his thoughts.

Sam didn't have the strength to look up when he finally heard the clatter of metal. Some part of his mind knew the brand was being set aside and he wept with relief. Then he felt the blade carve into his arms and his screams were ragged wheezes. This time he didn't ask for them to stop. He wanted to. He begged for them to in his mind, but he didn't dare voice it as the demon carved into his flesh. He could only weep with the pain. The brands came next, cauterizing the wounds.

"Tears are a sign of weakness, Sammy," the demon tsked and punched him in the face a handful of times before picking up the blood-drenched whip and starting on him again. It wasn't as long this time. At least, he didn’t think it was, but his freshly cauterized wounds split open and it was even more painful if that were possible. He tried to stop his tears but he couldn't. He just couldn't. He had never been in such agony. He hardly noticed it when the whipping did stop. He tried to brace himself for the brand, tried to listen for Azazel approaching with it, but all he could hear was the pounding of his heart and his own tortured breathing. He barely heard the demon's words before the demon walked away.

He almost sobbed. Was it over this time? Was it really over? God, please let it be over.

Obedience…loyalty… _water!_

His mouth was so dry his tongue was almost swollen. He accepted the offered water, only managing a few small sips at first until the glue in his mouth dissipated. His raw throat ached as the cold water touched it, but he drank it greedily. When the glass was empty he wanted to ask for more but if asking them to stop meant more pain, asking for more water would surely mean he didn't get any.

All he could do was look at the empty glass longingly and pray the demon gave him more water.

 

* * *

Azazel watched the young man greedily drink the water he offered with amusement, one hand gently petting Sam’s hair while he held the glass to the young man’s lips with the other. Only giving him small sips at first, making sure he did not choke himself by drinking too fast. The glass was emptied in short order and the demon chuckled again at the longing desperate look that Sam gave the empty glass, condensation still dripping down its smooth sides.

“Want some more?” He asked Sam with feigned curiosity as though he didn’t know how desperate the young man was for more water.

He held out the glass and one of the other demons approached with the full pitcher and quickly filled it. But Azazel simply held the full glass and did not press it to the younger man’s lips yet.

“You will take your brother’s place. You will learn to use the gifts I have given you. You will lead my army, and in return, I will give you everything you desire…” A particularly loud scream from his former ‘son’ made Azazel smirk turn practically deadly.

“Or you can continue to experience the fate of traitors and weaklings. It’s up to you, Sammy.” The demon said, before bringing the glass once more to Sam’s lips. 

* * *

Sam's eyes were locked on that tantalizing pitcher of ice water. He was still so desperately thirsty. He watched hopefully as the glass was refilled. It took a moment for Azazel's words to filter through the pain and past that desire for the cool refreshing water.

He heard Dean's screams and felt the ethereal chains binding Dean's soul to him vibrate with agony. But then the cold glass filled with water was pressed to his lips and he took it eagerly. He wasn't sure anything had ever tasted so damned good. When the water was gone he licked his lips, trying to wet them and ease the dry cracked feeling they had. He couldn't help but hope for more.

Azazel was offering him a deal, the same deal as before and a part of him screamed for him to accept it. The demon was watching him, an evil smirk curling his lips. If he gave up his soul, he gave up Dean's. He swore he would save his brother from Azazel. He would save his brother from Hell.  
  
Sam closed his eyes. He knew even if he said yes, Azazel would continue the torture. Dean had proven owning someone's soul did not correlate to loyalty. And Azazel wanted an obedient and loyal soldier. He would torture Sam until he got that. Until Sam could tolerate pain the way Dean could. Until he responded without a thought to whatever his master ordered.

His voice was rough and little more than a whisper. "Go fuck yourself."

* * *

Azazel’s eyes narrowed and that was the only warning he gave before slamming the empty glass against the young man’s temple, shattering it. Then he smiled, but there was nothing kind or amused in that smile.

“I think I’d rather fuck your brother.” The demon replied to the young man before turning to one of the other demons in the room. “Bring the other one.”

The lower demon bowed and immediately left the room to carry out its master’s wishes. Within minutes, it was returning, two other demons following dragging with them the bloodied and barely conscious Dean.

There didn’t seem to be an inch of his body that wasn’t torn or bruised. When they dropped him on the ground at Azazel’s feet, he didn’t move, though a soft groan of pain did escape his throat and he flinched slightly at the sound of Azazel’s voice.

“It’s time to show your brother just what a good little whore you are, Dean.” 

* * *

When the glass smashed into shards against his temple, Sam gave only the barest of grunts. He had expected worse and the glass to his head was nothing compared to how the rest of his body hurt. The demon's cold smile sent chills through him.

Even with Azazel's declaration, Sam couldn't help feel just a tiny bit elated. He would get to see Dean. Even in such a horrid situation, even knowing he might hear his brother say things or do things that would kill his soul, he would at least get to see his brother.

Though every movement brought new ripples of pain, Sam shifted so he was putting less strain on his shoulders. He tried not to voice his pain, knowing it would only please the demonic bastard.

Sam's breath caught when he saw his brother's condition and he couldn't stop the tears that came to his eyes. This was his fault. He was the reason Dean had turned against Azazel. He was the reason Dean had all but been shredded by the bastards. They wouldn't kill him, he told himself. They wouldn't kill him because he was too useful to use against Sam.

The demon's words cut into Sam's soul deeper than any of the tortures had and he suddenly found himself on his feet. He hardly recognized his own voice and he growled, "He's not a whore, you bastard."

The darkness swelled inside Sam and he let loose its wrath on the demon, slamming him into the closest wall. Shocked, the other three demons stood frozen. Sam looked at the demon that had gone to retrieve Dean and slammed him into another wall, hearing the sickening crunch of bone and smiling as it collapsed to the floor. The two who had brought Dean in started moving toward Sam, but he swept them out the door, slamming it closed and locking it in their wake. Chips of stone sprinkled to the floor as the ring attached to the ceiling gave and the chains it held tumbled to the ground in a heap. Sam's eyes blazed as he moved his brother to him and wrapped him in his arms. He shut his eyes and twisted his power, healing Dean and healing himself.

"I've got you big brother. I've got you," he whispered, kissing Dean's forehead. When he heard Azazel move, he glanced at the tools of torture laid out on the carts and launched them all at the demon.

* * *

Dean had woken up in agony. The torturers had begun on him before he even regained consciousness. Then he had heard Sam screaming. He had felt his brother’s pain over the chains that now bound his soul to Sam and that had been worse than any pain the demon torturers inflicted upon him. Every scream that was ripped from his throat, echoed by the younger man, was a reminder of Dean’s failure. He’d promised to keep Sam safe. He’d promised not to let this happen to his brother. He had failed… Every time the lash fell across his back or a knife cut into his skin, every time he screamed, he knew this time he deserved every pain and more.

When they stopped all of a sudden Dean didn’t know what was happening. It was far too soon for them to give him a “break” even though they hadn’t pulled any punches on him either. He hadn’t been tortured this badly in a long time. He could barely see through the blood dripping into his eyes as they cut him down and he collapsed boneless onto the floor. Every movement agony of course because they’d left practically no inch of him untouched. He knew he was leaving a trail of blood on the floor as they dragged him.

He didn’t move when they finally dropped him unceremoniously. Though he flinched when he heard his father’s voice, his words… Sam… he was going to, in front of Sam… Dean didn’t know what was worse, the threat itself or knowing that his brother was going to watch. That this was probably the only time he would lay eyes on the younger man.

But then he felt Sam’s power flare darkly and suddenly… he was in Sam’s arms, the pain was fading, his brother was healing him, healing them, and Sam had…

“Sam…” Dean managed a soft gasp of awe at what his brother had done through his raw throat as he looked up at the young man cradling him. Sam’s soft kiss… how could his brother still kiss him after how Dean had failed him? The moment of comfort Dean had never thought to receive in the first place was over almost as soon as it began. He felt his demon father’s rage over what Sam had done like an icy fist gripping his heart. Sam shouldn’t have… Dean had never dared to use his powers against his father to stop his torture, his punishment, he’d never wanted to know what the consequences of such a defiance would be.

But the look in the demon’s eyes as Sam attacked their father with the very implements of torture being used on them was terrifying. The demon swatted them away effortlessly, unfortunately, most of the sharp objects embedding themselves in the flesh of the other demon in the room. Dean could only feel a brief flicker of relief that Azazel had not launched them back at _them_ instead before he was torn out of Sam’s arms, Sam pinned to one wall of the cell and Dean to the other and he could not move even to blink his eyes. Azazel walked up to stand in front of Sam, the demon’s golden yellow eyes practically on fire with rage. But was there also curiosity in the demon’s gaze as well?

“I see you haven’t quite learned your lesson yet, Sammy.” Azazel practically growled, even as he ran his fingers through the blood on Sam’s chest, beneath the blood nothing but whole flesh now. “I guess that means we’ll just have to start over, doesn’t it?”

Azazel glanced towards Dean and then chuckled as he turned his eyes back to Sam.

“You’re willing to go through all of that pain again for _him_? What if I told you he tried to kill you? That’s right, after you risked everything for him, he tried to kill you to save himself. As long as you were alive he knew I would choose you over him.”

Dean’s eyes filled with horror at what the demon told Sam. It wasn’t true! That’s not why he had… he only wanted to save Sam. To save him from this…

* * *

It was so sudden he didn't even have a chance to deflect it. Dean was ripped from his arms and slammed into the far wall while he was slammed and pinned to another. He had pissed Azazel off but good. And all he felt was smugness.

Start over. Enduring the whip, the brands, the blades, and anything else Azazel decided to get creative with. He hadn't actually meant to heal himself. He never did. It just sort of happened. He still didn't really understand how he did it, but he didn't understand how to wield his powers particularly well in the first place.

Sam just couldn't stop the laughter, and he knew that would probably make the demon even more pissed at him. And he didn't give a damn.

"You think I don't know my brother's mind? I'm not surprised he tried. He didn't want you to get your claws into me. He wanted to protect me from you, _father_.

"You called him a weakling. He chose _me_ over _you_. He found the courage to leave you and serve me. He's no weakling.

"You were his everything. Are you jealous? Pissed that it didn't go as you planned? Pissed I didn't kill him? Pissed that he loves me so much he would endure your wrath, knowing full well what he would suffer because of taking me as his new master?"

Sam felt the power wrapping around him, holding him, and snagged it in his own dark tentacles, breaking the hold after a moment of effort. He could tell it drained him. He didn't try to attack Azazel this time. "You want me to serve you? I'll serve you. But you don't get my soul. You want to train me? I'll accept your training, but you seem to be doing a pretty damned good job of it without the official lessons even starting. You hurt Dean again? You touch him? You have any of your lackeys touch him? You order me to touch him? And I'll find a way to fucking kill your ass."

Sam walked by Azazel and to the center of the room. He glanced at the chains and the ring that had held them in the ceiling. The ring shot back up to the ceiling and embedded itself. He glanced at Dean and snapped Azazel's hold on him. He gave Dean a loving smile, then his face turned stoic. "Since it's apparent I need to learn to endure pain a lot better than I can, let's get to it." He turned, facing the demon, and knelt. "You've got a fresh canvas, Master." After a moment, he added, "I beg you to provide Dean with food and water and let him sleep in comfort. If not for him, I wouldn't be on my knees before you."

Sam knew if he could keep the rage stoked, he could strike back against Azazel. Once it faded, once the torture began, his powers would be sapped and he would be even weaker. The thought of what Azazel might make him do sickened him, but he would abide by the offered agreement if the demon accepted it. If not, then the next chance he got he'd try to flex his powers again. He would keep doing it until he found a way to pound the fucking demonic bastard into dust.

* * *

Dean stared at his brother in shock and in any other situation it probably would have been comical. He wasn't sure which one of them was more surprised by Sam's outburst. Him or Azazel. Frankly, for a moment, the demon looked speechless. Unfortunately that only lasted for about two seconds before his father's expression changed to one of rage. Dean had a moment to fear for his brother's life as he struggled against Azazel's invisible bonds holding him in place, but at Sam's next words a cold silence fell over the room.

Serve him… train him… no… NO!

Dean struggled even more fiercely in the demon's grip but it was Sam's power that finally broke the invisible hold and Dean practically fell forward as he scrambled to try to get to the younger man. But though his body was now healed he was much too weak to do anything but crawl, he couldn't even muster his power against his former demon master no matter how much he wanted to.

"Sam, no!" He tried, but Azazel easily silenced him and froze him in place once again. There was now amusement and a cold smugness on the demon's face that scared him more than he had ever been frightened in his whole life. Fear for Sam…

Suddenly the door to the cell flew open, practically falling off its hinges and more demons rushed into the room. Azazel held them back with a slight wave of his hand and approached Sam kneeling and bound in the center of the room again because he _chose_ to be. For him… Dean didn't know whether to scream or vomit. He couldn't do either, he was powerless as the demon caught Sam's chin in his hand and leaned close.

"We have a deal then, Sammy." The demon said before crushing his brother's lips with his mouth, and again Dean tried to scream in denial and rage but all that escaped his throat was a pained moan. Azazel released Sam's mouth but didn't release his face. Didn't even turn his eyes away from the younger man as he spoke to the other demons. "Take him away."

Azazel meant him. The power holding him frozen vanished but the other demons grabbed him before he could try to move even an inch closer to his brother. He still couldn't speak. Couldn't beg Sam not to do this. Not that it mattered. It was already done. Even if Sam still retained his soul, it wouldn't matter. Azazel would twist it inside his brother, turn it black until nothing of Sam remained. Nothing…

"Cross me, and he'll die a death so long and painful you'll be begging me to kill him just to release him." Azazel was telling Sam as the demons dragged him out of the room struggling. "Impress me, and I may even let you see your little toy from time to time…"

It was the last he heard as he was dragged out the door before the other screams in the dungeon drowned out the demon's words. It wasn't until he was halfway down the hall before his voice was freed and his own screams of rage drowned out all the others.

* * *

  
_We have a deal...…_

Sam was startled by the kiss, and even more startled by the new chains he felt binding him to Azazel. But he hadn't given up his soul! How the hell...?

The kiss. The kiss had sealed the deal. He promised to serve and accept training in exchange for Dean remaining untouched. Only now did it occur to him that training probably meant a helluva lot more than just training him in his powers. Dean had been taught to kill. Dean had been taught to show no mercy. Dean had been taught to torture. Dean had been taught fear and obedience. All of that would be part of his training as well.

He hadn't promised loyalty. He hadn't promised obedience. He hadn't promised to lead the demon's armies. If he crossed Azazel...…only if he got caught would Dean pay. He heard, he felt, Dean's fury at the bargain, but what other choice did he have? There wasn't anyone to come rescue them. Maybe his father, his _real_ father, could find a way, but it would take time. If there even was a way to save them. Sam considered this survival. He kept his soul. He would pray for forgiveness every night, pray for strength, pray that he learned of a way to kill the yellow eyed bastard. If it cost him his life, even if it cost Dean his, it would be worth it. He would do everything in his power to make sure that Hell was not the place their souls ended up. He wondered then if serving Azazel meant serving him forever, even after he was dead. Well, he decided grimly, he would trust in God. Azazel didn't own his soul and didn't own Dean's. That would have to be enough. Perhaps he should have had more faith in God, that God would save them but…God helps those who help themselves and frankly, he had never seen a miracle, except maybe for his own ability to heal. God let demons and supernatural beast kill and destroy on a whim. How could he be faulted for believing he would have to find his own way out? Even if he had to take a dark path to find that freedom.

He felt Dean's rage, heard his screams of anger along the chains that bound them to one another. He responded with love and tried to reassure Dean. No, he would never be the same, but whether he served Azazel or not, he never would have been the same after days and weeks and months of torture. The outcome would have been the same. Azazel would have tried to force him to do all the things the demon planned to teach him anyhow. Given enough time, he had little doubt that he would have.

He tried to bite back his scream when he felt the first lash fall across his back. But he couldn't.


	12. Chapter 12

  
Two weeks…    


  
It had been two weeks since he had last seen his brother. Two weeks since Sam had made the deal with Azazel. Two weeks since he had been dragged, almost literally, kicking and screaming to a "room" and left there. He only knew it was two weeks because once a day a demon would bring him some scraps of food and water and take away his waste bucket. 

Other than that, no one came to his room. A cell was more like it. It was barely long enough for him to lay down flat in. The blanket he had to lay on barely enough to cut the chill of the cold concrete against his naked skin. Not that he really cared about such things. He'd endured far worse during his life. 

Powerful runes carved onto the concrete prevented him from using his powers, prevented him from sensing anything outside the four walls of his prison. He couldn't even sense Sam, and that was even more painful than when the torturers of hell had been working him over. Not knowing what was being done to his brother, but at the same time, knowing all too well what Azazel was doing. What Azazel was turning the younger man into…

Sometimes he spent hours screaming and banging on the cold steel door of his cage until he exhausted himself. Screaming Sam's name until his voice was too hoarse to utter a sound. Beating on the door until his hands were a bloody mess, perhaps a part of him hoping that Sam would hear him, that his brother would find the strength to hold on. 

How long? How long would it take until Sam was no longer Sam? No longer the kind innocent dream boy who had comforted him his whole life? No longer his beautiful caring master who loved him? No longer his, only Azazel's? 

Dean couldn't help but wonder if he died, if Sam's deal would be broken. If Dean killed himself, then Azazel couldn't uphold his end of the bargain, and Sam would be free. He didn't know. Perhaps that was the only reason he hadn't bitten off his own tongue to bleed to death already. What if he died and went to hell and Sam only made a worse deal with the demon to try to get him back?

Sam… 

"I'm sorry…" Dean whispered hoarsely into the silence of the empty room for what had to be the thousandth time. Silent tears falling down his cheeks that he would never cry for himself.    


* * *

It was all blur in the beginning. He had no idea how much time passed. Once the deal had been made he was tortured for what felt like days, Azazel tending to most of it himself. He learned quickly to quell his begging for them to stop, for water, for food, for anything. He also learned to curb his smart mouth. He could only vaguely feel Dean. He knew Dean was alive and that was about it. He assumed if Azazel broke the deal, if anyone touched Dean, the chains binding him to Azazel would shatter. But that was only a supposition. When he asked after his brother all Azazel would say was that Dean was safely untouched, and received food and water and had a blanket.

The demon may not have wanted a whore, but that didn't stop him from pleasuring himself with Sam though no one else was permitted to touch him in that way. When one demon had tried, Azazel hadn't even bothered to torture it. He simply ripped it into shreds. No one else ever dared again.

Azazel often cradled Sam during the lulls of torture, giving him water and food. He demanded Sam heal himself, and though Sam tried, he had little success, which only brought on more punishment. Azazel kept him cuffed, a reminder he told Sam, that Sam was his. Sam was forced to torture a man, to whip him, to burn him, to cut into him. Finally to kill him. When Azazel demanded he do the same to a young boy that reminded Sam far too much of his brother in his youth, Sam balked. So instead he was forced to watch as terrible things were done to the boy and when Sam cried, Sam found himself back in the torture room, with some of the most severe torture yet.

Azazel worked with him teaching him how to use his abilities. Sam still tended to be the battering ram and his carelessness only brought more pain. Finally something inside him shifted just a little and he seemed to gain a better insight into using his powers. He managed to heal himself. A demon who had crossed Azazel was brought before Sam. He was told only to use his powers to torture and kill the demon. He didn't begin to know how to do that, but the lash across his back convinced him to try. As he opened up to let his powers out he did something he hadn't done before. He let the darkness in it fill him, let it control him, and suddenly he could do what Azazel asked. All that torture and pain he had suffered seemed to let loose. The tentacles bit at the demon, sucked energy, sucked life, sucked power. God it was so intoxicating. When Sam had drained it, had ripped at its skin until nothing was left untouched, his power simply grabbed hold of the demon's soul and ripped it into tatters that flashed and smoked like embers blown from a campfire until they disappeared into scattered ash.

A part deeply buried in Sam smiled grimly. How to kill a demon. A very useful piece of information. He hoped Azazel let him do that more often. He wanted to get very very good at it.

Azazel was proud of him that day and he couldn't deny how Azazel's pride made him feel. Pleased. It shouldn't. It was wrong, but his own father had never given him praise as Azazel did those handful of hours ago. Azazel was so pleased, Sam was permitted to sleep in a warm if small cell. He was given fresh water and even a solid meal. He was admittedly confused afterward when he wasn't led back to the training room or the torture room. He was taken down a hall he didn't recall ever being down. His cuffs were removed and he was shoved inside. He readied himself for whatever Azazel had planned for him next, as prepared to fight as he was to go to his knees in submission.

When his eyes fell on his brother, his knees nearly did give out.

"Dean!" he yelled and swept Dean into his arms, crushing his lips to his brother's immediately and holding him as tightly as he could. He heard the door shut behind him and felt the way his power was locked in the room. But he could feel the chains of ownership and finally feel Dean strongly. He sent power down those chains, wrapping his brother in absolute love, letting their powers twine, making them one. He didn't think he had been so very happy in so long a time and he felt his tears fall even though a part of him chastised him for such a weakness.

 

* * *

Something was wrong. The door to his cell shouldn’t be opening. He’d already been fed once today. Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to know why it was opening now. He could only think of one reason why it would be. That Sam had somehow defied Azazel and now the demon had come to punish Sam by punishing him. Maybe even killing him...

He hoped so. He really did. It meant that Azazel would no longer have leverage over the younger man. It meant that Sam could escape. But the presence he suddenly felt in the room was not his demon father’s. Dean almost did not dare to hope that this wasn’t some kind of dream or even hallucination.

But if it was, then that meant his ears were deceiving him as well, when he heard his name called. It meant his eyes were lying to him too when they snapped open and locked on the form of his brother. It also meant that his whole body was betraying him when he suddenly felt Sam’s arms around him, holding him so tight and kissing him so hard he could barely breathe, but Dean hardly cared.

Sam...

Dean’s arms came up and wrapped around the younger man so tightly he knew his hold had to be painful, but even feeling the solid weight of his brother in his arms he still almost couldn’t believe it. Sam. Sam was here. Sam was in his arms. He felt Sam’s love for him fill him, wrap around him like a cocoon of warmth and comfort. His own power reacting in kind.

Dean knew he was sobbing his brother’s name against his lips, as he kissed him over and over. His eyes burning with tears, and he didn’t care. He never thought he would see Sam again, much less hold him. Feel his love. He’d feared if he ever saw Sam again, all he would feel was darkness. The same kind of darkness that stained his own soul.

“Sam... Sammy...” 

* * *

Sam felt Dean's power join his own and he couldn't help but pick through it, a part of him now understanding some of Dean's powers that he hadn't before. He saw the darkness that Dean considered irredeemable and denied it. Dean had already come so far up the path and away from darkness, though Sam realized it was really only where Sam was concerned. But if he could walk the better path for Sam, he could do it for others, given the chance. He saw his own soul reflected by Dean's and saw how a part of himself had darkened, but that darkening was one of the reasons they were together now. To hold Dean in his arms, to feel Dean's depth of love, it was worth it. Maybe that was horribly selfish, but it was worth it. Holding Dean, he could forget the torture, the new scars that he hadn't been able to wipe away because he just didn't have the strength when he had healed himself. He could forget that he had tortured and killed a man. He could forget that Azazel would demand more of the same from him. He could forget the way his demon 'father' used him.

He finally had to break their kiss just so he could breathe, but he clutched his brother to him. "I could feel you, I knew you were alive, but that was all. Now I see why."

He held Dean as tightly as Dean held him. The older man's sobs nearly broke his heart. "Shh, it's okay, brother. I'm here. I'm here. It'll be okay. We'll get out of this. We'll find a way out. Together. You and me. I'm yours, you're mine. Always."

Sam kissed away the tears on Dean's face, then kissed Dean's lips again, licking his way in to his brother's mouth. He tried to erase his own memories of Azazel's tongue in his mouth, of Azazel's rough hands roaming over him. Dean's touch was so tender and loving. He relaxed into his brother, wanting to remember nothing but Dean's arms wrapped around him.

* * *

Though Dean was still in a bit of shock over the fact that the younger man was truly here, in his arms, kissing them both breathless, it was not enough that he didn’t begin to notice what he hadn’t initially. That the skin beneath his hands now carried far many more scars than he remembered, much like his own ruined flesh. But that was not all that Sam now mirrored him. As his brother’s powers circled around him and through him Dean began to see, feel, the… stain… on the younger man’s soul.

The darkness, the taint, just a hint of it, buried deep, but still there. Azazel’s taint. More than just the demonic blood that flowed through both their veins. The same darkness he’d been afraid _he_ would stain his brother with. That he would have rather killed himself than allow his brother to become infected by it through him. Now it was there. Slowly eating away at his brother like a parasite until there would be nothing left of the younger man.

The grief and rage that Dean felt was indescribable, and his brother’s soft words and gentle kisses did little to comfort him. No… Sam was his! Sam had always been his, and would always be his!

Dean could feel his brother’s pain. Sam was hurting deep inside, and Dean wanted nothing more than to banish that pain. To sooth all of the younger man’s hurts. To wipe away all the signs of his brother’s scars, both inside and out. To take away that darkness, even if he had to consume it into himself, and leave Sam pure and untouched by Azazel once more. He knew that was a hopeless wish, but it wouldn’t stop Dean from trying, all the same.

He parted his lips eagerly for his brother’s seeking tongue, caressing the soft slick muscle with his own and sucking gently as his hands caressed his brother everywhere Dean could reach. Sliding up over his back and shoulders, and then down his thighs and buttocks. His fingers caressing and twining into the younger mans soft hair. Arching and rubbing himself against the younger man even as he clutched Sam impossibly closer. Absolutely nothing between them as he gently guided the younger man down to his poor excuse of a blanket, but it was all he had to offer.

Poor excuse. Just like him. All of Sam’s suffering was because of him. Because he had failed to protect his brother like he had promised. He had failed…

“I’m sorry…” Dean whispered brokenly, even as his fingers delved gently between Sam’s ass cheeks to caress tenderly over his hole. Dean didn’t need to ask to know that he was no longer the only person to have felt Sam’s warmth anymore and the murderous rage he felt was tempered only by the crushing sorrow he felt at that knowledge. 

* * *

The way Dean sucked on his tongue, Azazel didn't do that, and Sam decided it was something purely Dean. And he loved it. Dean's hands running over him was like clean fresh water, every where he touched it seemed to wash away any memory of pain or his demon father's hands. He gladly let Dean lay him down onto the floor and equally glad they had given Dean a blanket. It was thin and ragged, but Sam hadn't had any until last night.

His brother's fury and grief was all but tangible. Dean's thoughts didn't come through as words but rather as feelings but still he knew all that was in his brother's mind.

Sam ran his hand along Dean's cheek. "Sorry for what? God, Dean, don't blame yourself for this. I would rather it on my terms, though I bargained pretty poorly in the details. How long do you really think I would have held out against the torture? How long before I would have given him whatever he wanted, even my soul? How long before every demon that wanted to have me, he would have let have me? It's only been him and frankly, I'd rather it be just one than fifty, even if that one is him.

"If we're going to get free of him, I've got to be trained. Neither of us can do it alone. I've got to be trained…the way you were, even if it means I have to do horrible things. I've got to understand my powers. I've got to be able to use them. No one's coming to our rescue, Brother. It's just you and me. He would have destroyed you for betraying him, and even if you didn't mean everything to me, the hard cold facts are, I need you if I'm going to kill him." Sam laughed softly, but there was a hard edge to it. "He taught me how to kill a demon yesterday. He's going to regret teaching me that. Someday, he'll regret it."

His face softened and he smiled lovingly at Dean. "He would have found a way to make me do the things that I'm doing. You know he would have. I'm just not fighting him about it. It'll get me trained that much faster. He said when I impress him, I get to see you. Eventually, I'll be able to ask for you. Eventually, I'll be given quarters instead of a cell. He won't exactly be proving himself a great master if he has to keep his first lieutenant under lock and key. So long as I have you, I'm not going to go completely darkside. Just like you aren't completely darkside anymore because of me.

Hesitating a moment, Sam said, "I want you to start praying for me. Sometimes I'm forgetting to ask God for forgiveness for the things I'm doing. But you can ask for me, for when I forget. And ask Him for help and strength for the both of us." Sam laughed softly again, but this time the edge was gone. "If there's a Hell, if there are demons, God and his angels have to be up there somewhere. Who knows. Maybe they'll help."

He kissed Dean deeply, arching up against him, feeling his cock slowly beginning to fill. "Make love to me, Dean," he whispered. "Not sex. Love. Devour me. Wrap me in everything you are. I don't know how long he'll let me stay, but let's not waste any more of it being angry at him, or regretting what's happened, or dwelling on things that simply can't be changed. No matter what happens, as surely as I own your soul, you own mine."

 

* * *

  
Not blame himself? Dean stared at the younger man in disbelief. How could he not blame himself? 

He had failed Sam at every turn. He had failed to keep Sam hidden. He had failed to protect his brother, to keep him safe from Azazel. He had failed to train Sam enough to kill the demon. He had even failed to kill Sam to keep him out of the demon's hands. Sam should hate him. Sam should want to punish him for his failure. Sam should want to give him every pain that Azazel had forced on his brother and more…

Instead Sam was trying to "reason" with him, to look on the "bright" side, trying to tell him that it was better he gave into the training than being broken through the torture Azazel would have put him through otherwise. Trying to tell him that it was better that he only had to endure Azazel's touch rather than any other demon that wanted him. Trying to tell him the deal he'd made to keep Dean safe, letting Azazel twist his brother's soul, was better than letting their father torture and kill him…

Dean couldn't have stopped the hopeless, rage fueled, tears that poured down his cheeks if he tried as he clung to Sam as though the younger man would be ripped from him before his eyes. It didn't help that he knew that was going to happen. Probably soon. 

Dean couldn't stop the harsh laughter that escaped his throat when Sam asked him to _pray_ for him. Like "god" would ever listen to the prayers of something like _him_. Dean had never in his life prayed for himself. But if it was what Sam wanted…

"I'll do whatever you ask." Dean whispered against his brother's lips as his hands began moving over the younger man's skin again. He wanted nothing more than to spend hours making love to Sam, to make his brother forget everything that had been done to him, but he knew they didn't have hours. If he knew his "father" they probably didn't even have minutes before Azazel would come and rip Sam away again. 

"Love you…" He breathed as he gently rolled his brother onto his back, covering the younger man's body with his own as though he could shield Sam from everything. He kissed Sam again, long and deep, exploring his brother's mouth like it was the first time he'd ever tasted Sam. Savoring everything, his taste, the soft moans he swallowed greedily. His hand slipping between them to curl around Sam's cock, he stroked his brother tenderly, almost soothing rather than arousing. At the same time, he let his power cocoon around the younger man, sliding over Sam's skin like soft rippling waves. Forcing himself to forget about his rage, the pain, and focus only on his love for his brother. Wanting that to be the only thing Sam felt. So he would remember…   


* * *

Sam didn't know what else he could do or say to make Dean understand. Azazel raping him was bad. Being used by any number of demons? No, he much preferred just his 'father.' He much preferred feeling like he had some measure of control rather than being shredded and half destroyed before he finally gave in anyway. No matter how highly Dean thought of him, Sam knew he would have eventually broken under Azazel's skilled torture. Yeah, he probably could have lasted a while. But knowing that even worse was being done to the person he loved so very much, God forgive him, he just couldn't endure that. For love, for Dean…and maybe that was an unfair burden to lay on the older man, but he would have made the same choice if it had been Jessica. Only he would have sold his soul for her. Because he owned Dean's, he would not, could not, make that compromise. He would not let Azazel have his brother's soul again.

Dean's laugh at his request shouldn't have surprised him, but when Dean said he would pray for them, it made him happy. Almost as happy as he had been to see his brother in the first place.

"Love you, too," Sam whispered back before Dean kissed him so deeply as to steal his breath away. It was as if it was their first kiss, but a kiss of pure love and passion. He ran his own hands over Dean's body, memorizing every scar, every inch of skin he could reach. He groaned in pleasure as Dean's tongue investigated his mouth, as Dean's hands touched him everywhere. Dean's hand on his cock was so gentle, fondling and loving, Sam couldn't help but groan deeper.

The power that wrapped around him was protective and caressing. He felt so very loved and treasured under Dean's care. He sent his own tendrils of power threading through Dean's, until they were both awash in each other's love. He let his roaming hands knead Dean's buttocks until one slid between Dean's cheeks, rubbing gently at the hole.

When Dean let him come up for air Sam panted, "Fuck me Dean. Reclaim what's yours."

* * *

Dean managed a small smile even as he panted against his brother’s lips, feeling Sam’s power wrap around him, and caress him like he caressed Sam. Both of their powers winding around each other so tightly he couldn’t really tell where his ended and Sam’s began. His brother’s request leaving him nearly breathless as he nodded slightly, licking softly at Sam’s lips one last time before he began to kiss his way slowly down his brother’s jaw and neck.

He continued to stroke the younger man’s cock slowly as he licked his way down Sam’s chest. Toying with his nipples as his thumb circled around the younger man’s crown, rubbing over the slit. Sucking and nipping on one tight peak and then the other before forcing himself to continue down.

Dean couldn’t resist flicking his tongue over the tip of the younger man’s shaft. Sucking and tasting the head, loving how thick his brother was growing in his hand, loving how the bit of moisture began to bead at his slit before he licked it away greedily. God, how he wished he could spend hours making love to Sam, but all he could really do was make it feel like hours.

He licked up and down his brother’s shaft as he gently grasped Sam’s thighs and pushed the younger man’s legs up towards his chest. He didn’t have any kind of other lubricant and he wasn’t going to hurt Sam in any way, he refused to cause him even the slightest pain. So Dean slowly licked down Sam’s cock and over his balls, working his way closer and closer to his hole.

Spreading his brother’s cheeks gently he licked along the younger man’s crack before centering on the delicious opening. Swirling his tongue slowly around the tight rim of muscles, feeling them flutter and relax under his caress. Loosening for him even before he began to push his tongue inside, thrusting in and out, fucking his brother open with just his tongue. Swirling and wetting his brother before he stopped long enough to suck on one of his fingers, then easing that finger along with his tongue back into his brother’s hole with a moan. 

* * *

He wanted Dean inside him, wanted to be filled up with the memory of something other than the demon. Azazel pleasured himself with Sam often, in one fashion or another. Sometimes having Sam suck him off, sometimes getting Sam aroused to the point of pain and then just leaving him, sometimes fucking him without any warning or preparation, just shoving in and pumping until he came, sometimes stroking Sam's cock at the same time, but as soon as he was done, it didn't matter if Sam had come or not. And the chains were too short for Sam to be able to finish himself off.

To have Dean kiss him, then begin to work his way down, toying with his nipples while playing with his hardening cock, doing it for Sam's pleasure, it made Dean so much more special to him. He understood a little better why him making love to Dean meant so much to his brother. To have someone who genuinely cared making love to you. He had never realized how special something like that could be. Until now. And it only made him love Dean more.

Dean was already pulling louder groans from him and when his brother reached his cock, first thumbing his crown and then when his tongue and mouth began working on it, Sam moaned in delight. This was what it was supposed to be like.

He eagerly accepted the way Dean gently spread his thighs and licked his shaft and teased his balls. His hole was already puckering in anticipation when Dean's tongue reached it. He relaxed immediately, knowing his brother would never hurt him, knowing what it would feel like and he wasn't at all disappointed as his brother began to tongue him. He whimper when Dean paused but sighed in pleasured as the hot wet muscle dove deeply inside him again, a finger alongside. He wriggled in pleasure and strove to relax more. He wanted this as good for Dean as he hoped it would be for himself. If Dean wanted to plunge in deeply, well, he was beginning to get use to that, to that pain and burn, and if it made Dean happy, that pain was trivial compared to the things Azazel had been doing to him.

"If we hear them coming," Sam panted, praying that the demon would at least give him a few hours with Dean but he wouldn't be shocked if it was only a few minutes, "I still want you inside me. Don't wait," Sam gasped as Dean worked him.

"So damned good, Dean," Sam murmured, rocking against his brother. "So good."

* * *

Dean gave a small nod at his brother’s request, before continuing to gently push his finger in and out of the younger man’s tight hole. Curling and brushing against Sam’s prostate with every stroke while his tongue continued to alternate between lapping around the sensitive rim and plunging as deep into his brother’s body as he could.

He wouldn’t wait. He would give Sam what he wanted. He would fill his brother, he would make love to Sam, and he would not stop loving him for anything. He wasn’t going to let Sam go. Not even if Azazel returned in the next few minutes, trying to rip Sam away from him again.

The demon could try. Dean would fight with his last breath if he had to. He didn’t care if it was futile in the end. Even if Azazel killed him for it, he would not simply stand aside again and allow the demon to have his brother. Sam was his!

Knowing Sam was ready and eager for more Dean withdrew his finger and then paused in his licking long enough to wet two of his fingers. Pushing both gently back into his brother and moaning softly as he watched Sam’s body stretch to take them, watching them slide wetly in and out of his brother’s tight hole. He looked up the length of the younger man’s body to watch his face as he scissored gently and brushed teasingly over his pleasure spot again and again. So beautiful… he could do this forever…

Dean eagerly returned to licking around Sam’s hole, teasing around his fingers and letting his tongue work its way in beside them, cherishing every pleasured moan that he wrung from his brother. When he felt that Sam was relaxed and wet enough he pulled away almost reluctantly, letting his fingers slip out of the younger man’s hot body knowing that Sam wanted more than just his fingers.

He spit into his hand and slicked his cock as best he could. Kneeling between Sam’s spread legs he gently encouraged his brother to wrap them around his waist as he positioned himself, pressing the thick head of his shaft at the younger man’s opening as he leaned over Sam to kiss him. Kissing him slowly and deeply as though he had all the time in the world.

“Love you…” Dean whispered again as he slowly began to ease his cock into the younger man’s body. 

* * *

He knew Dean would do what he asked, and Sam would pay for it if Azazel did come and Sam did not immediately respond to his order. But he already held part of his power ready, stitching tendrils through the doorframe. It was hard, the runes trying to hold back any use of power near them but he wasn't trying to get through the door. He just wanted to bar it, to hold it long enough that they could finish, if Azazel decided to interrupt. He knew, if it took everything he had, he _would_ bar that fucking door. He and Dean _would_ have this. More if given time but every second with his brother was precious paradise.

Each brush of Dean's finger along his sweet spot was heaven and he moaned and through their intertwined power, let Dean feel the pleasure he was giving him. The loss of Dean's attention brought a tiny protest, but he knew Dean would be back with more and almost immediately he felt Dean's two fingers enter and begin to open him up, readying him for Dean's cock. He was quickly learning to relax those muscles to ease the burn when Azazel took him. It had only been a few weeks perhaps? Certainly not a month, so he was definitely on the harsh side of the learning curve, but he always had been a fast learner.

The moans Dean was pulling from him was practically sinful and his hands ran along the floor of the cell, fingers over stone and grit. When Dean's tongue returned, he couldn't help but buck and pant his brother's name. When Dean finally pulled out, it gave Sam a moment to catch his breath and he looked down at Dean, watching as Dean slicked his own cock, eyeing Dean's thick member with desire. Sam wrapped his legs around Dean and relaxed, feeling the head of Dean's cock slowly slide its way in. He didn't realize he had been expecting Dean to simply ram in until Dean didn't.

Sam swallowed Dean's words of love, moaning into his brother's mouth as Dean kissed him so gently and lovingly. Wrapping his arms around his brother he lifted his hips and tightened his legs, slowly sliding himself onto Dean's shaft, feeling the burn and the pressure but not giving a damned. It was his brother's cock inside him, his lover's, the one person who meant more to him than anything, even himself. He moaned deeper, matching his brother's sounds of pleasure as he began to slide up and down on his brother's cock, feeling his brother shift his angle so that Sam's prostate was hit every time.

* * *

Dean could feel his brother’s power attempting to bar the door and he would have been proud with the progress Sam was learning his powers if he didn’t know what the younger man was going through being “taught”. It made him want to weep, but he refused to shed tears again while his brother watched. He did not want the younger man worrying over him.

So instead he smiled into the kiss they shared, his tongue playing gently in his brother’s mouth as he moaned at the feeling of Sam pushing against him. Taking his cock eagerly into his body and Dean filled him to the hilt. Their lips met again and again, their tongues tangling, as their bodies moved together perfectly. The pleasure of their bodies joining almost nothing compared to how their powers, their very souls, twined together, every caress shared. Pleasure shared. Love shared.

At first Dean tried to keep their coupling slow and controlled but as the passion built between him he couldn’t help speeding his thrusts. He panted against his brother’s mouth, moaning with every movement either of them made, clutching Sam close, his fingers digging bruises of passion into the younger man’s skin. He only wanted Sam to ever bear his marks, Sam was his, body, soul, no one else’s. He wanted Sam to remember…

“I will not let him take you… I will not…” Dean moaned as he clutched his brother even tighter to him of it was possible. As though he could take the younger man into his very skin in order to keep him safe. 

* * *

He felt Dean fill him completely and he wanted it to always be him, always be his brother though he knew that couldn't be. The way their powers merged was electrical, was unbelievable in how it felt. One soul. Two bodies. The ultimate union. Every kiss, every thrust, each more perfect than the last. As their passion escalated, so did the speed of their combined thrusts against one another. Sam wanted to hold Dean to him forever and he etched this in his memory. This perfect moment drawn out. He felt Dean's bruising fingers and knew his own fingers were leaving their own marks on his brother. He cherished the knowledge that no one could touch Dean, that no one but he would have Dean this way. Not that anyone could, not with the way their powers and souls shared everything.

"If you love me, you have to," Sam answered through his panting. "I will not lose you!" Sam said as he pumped faster and harder. "Love you so much," Sam moaned. He felt his own balls tighten and knew Dean's were as well. "Love you!" he practically screamed as he came hard, feeling Dean fill him at the same time.

* * *

  
"Sam…" Dean's voice was choked with both pleasure and despair at the younger man's words. His _order_. To let him go… if he loved Sam… Surely his brother had to understand it was _because_ he loved Sam so much he couldn't simply let him go. Couldn't just let Azazel take his brother away from him, no matter what it might cost Dean. He couldn't lose Sam any more than Sam could lose him and that was exactly what was going to happen. The longer that Azazel had Sam, the less of his brother would remain, until there was nothing…   
  
Feeling Sam's body tighten around him, hearing the younger man's near scream of pleasure, not to mention feeling the echo of it through their joined powers, quickly pushed Dean over the edge as well. His cry of passion joining the younger man's as his cock pulsed and he spilled his seed inside of his brother's body. Clutching Sam to him as he gasped and shuddered, but he didn't stop moving. Didn't stop thrusting gently into his brother. Didn't stop touching him, caressing him, kissing every inch of skin he could reach.

"I can't… I can't lose you either… I can't…" Dean barely managed in a choked sob against the younger man's throat, even though he still refused to let any tears fall from his eyes.    


* * *

Sam rode out their orgasm, milking from Dean everything he could and cherishing every touch, every caress his brother gave him. He pet Dean's hair lovingly at Dean's words. He sighed softly.

"Dean, I made a deal. Even if you were to stand in the way, it wouldn't change anything. I must serve him. I must accept his training. The chains are there, they're made. If I cross him, if I try to break the deal…I can't. I won't." He twisted his powers golden and they spider-webbed through their shared powers and rolled down the chains that led to Dean's soul. He showed Dean how the powers could be shifted to heal, what the innocence felt like, the innocence that part of him still had. He forced it over the darkness Azazel had put in Dean. He wouldn't eradicate that stain. He didn't want to. The ugly truth was, that 'stain' was how the powers were accessed and used. Even so, he showered his feelings of love on Dean.

"To fight Azazel we both have to be this way. You have to keep that darkness. I have to accept the darkness and take it into me. I know you don't want me to. I know you think I'll forget who I am. Maybe I will. So you have to remember this in case I forget. You have to bring me back, if I go too far." He kissed Dean deeply. "What we have, when we're together like this, we can be this way when I get stronger, when I can use my powers better. When we're one when we're both strong enough, we can beat him. Have faith in me brother. Like I've always had in you. Don't cry for me. Don't blame yourself. You saved me. I know you don't think you did, but you did." He showed Dean his feelings of loss over Jessica and his friends, how lost he felt until he found love in Dean's arms, how he raged and was ready to go full darkside and walk into Azazel's waiting arms at the church when Dean brought him back, talked him down. "Okay, so maybe we didn't get in the training we should have, but even with months of it, I still would have had to accept the darkness to have a prayer of beating Azazel. You know that's the truth whether you want to believe it or not. I'm counting on you Dean. I'm counting on you saving me again. Remember me pure. Show it to me when this is over. Remind me. Force it down my throat. Whatever it takes. But for now, pray for me, and accept that I have made the deal. Please, until we're strong enough, accept this and remember." He clutched Dean to him tightly, and felt a few tears trickle from his eyes. "I love you. I love you more than anything."

 

* * *

It seemed that with every word that his brother spoke that he broke just a little more, and Dean almost wasn’t sure that was possible given he already felt shattered and ground to dust. The thought of Sam surrendering to Azazel, serving him, becoming what the demon wanted Sam to be… because of him… because Sam wanted to keep _him_ safe. Him… lowly… worthless…

Perhaps it was worse because Sam didn’t understand that this would not save them in the end. Sam thought he understood how he would ‘change’ under Azazel’s ‘teachings’ but he didn’t. He had no idea… and how could Dean possibly explain, because Dean did not even completely understand Sam. What was inside of Sam, the light, the innocence, he didn’t understand it. It was what made Sam who he was, what he was, it was what had always made him so precious to Dean. Sam did not understand what he would be once that was gone. Just as Sam could not completely understand him…. Not yet…

Sam would never be able to get it back once it was gone. Never. All that would be left was a memory, Dean’s memory, and nothing more.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t let that happen, no matter how much Sam wished it. No matter how hard it was to disobey Sam, harder than it was to turn away from his Demon father for his brother. Making the only choice he’d ever truly made for himself, choosing Sam as his master. He would not let Sam become like him what Azazel wanted. Dean would kill them both first…

Even though Sam clung to him, though it felt like he was ripping his own heart out, Dean pushed himself away from Sam. He looked down at Sam, knowing his expression must have been as devastated as his brother looked now, but he would not allow himself to do what he wanted and simply fall back into his brother’s arms. To sooth him, to promise Sam anything he wanted to make this ‘easier’ because he would not help Azazel. He had failed his brother, but he would not be the chain that bound Sam to the demon.

“If I asked you, if I begged you, would you simply hand me over to Azazel without a fight? If you can honestly tell me ‘yes’ then I’ll do as you ask.” 

* * *

Sam was a bit startled when Dean pushed away from him. God, the look on his face, it was as if Dean were watching Sam die…and maybe that's what his brother feared. Hell, the thought of becoming what Azazel wanted him to be scared the hell out of him, too and was a death after a fashion.

Dean's words hit him like a fist to the gut. Could he…? No! He'd ripped Dean's soul away from Azazel and swore Azazel would never touch his brother again, never keep him. He never wanted Azazel to hurt Dean ever again. Remembering Azazel's threat, his promise, if he ever crossed Azazel….

Sam's jaw tightened and he knew his eyes grew hard. His words came slowly but even so he knew they were true. "If you told me that if I let Azazel have you again for one month, and at the end of that month you thought you would be strong enough that the two of us could try and maybe succeed in taking him down…" Sam's voice cracked and he choked on his words, "…then yes, I would. Otherwise, there's just no hope. There's no point at all.

"I won't be his slave for the rest of my life. I won't be the leader of a demon army that attacks the innocents of the world. If we try and fail, then…" Sam gave a small shake of his head. He met Dean's eyes, seeing how close his brother was to crying. "Give me a month. I don't know if it'll be enough, but in a month whether I'm ready or not, we'll try. If…if we fail, then…then we need to try to get free…by…any means. Azazel swore if I went against him, he would torture you until I begged him to kill you. If that threat had been made against me, would you be willing to go against him before you thought there was a chance of beating him? Would you be willing to watch him torture me for months or even years?

"This sucks, okay? We're both fucked over. I don't want him having you any more than you want him having me. This is the way the cards fell. You would have made a deal to save me if you thought he'd take it. You were going to kill me to try to save me from this." Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed. "Give me a month. Stand aside when they come. I swear to you, I would do this if you asked me, but only with the same promise I give you now. In a month, we fight. We either win or we die."

* * *

His question had been a double edged sword. There hadn’t been a “right” answer that Sam could give him that would have satisfied Dean, but the answer his brother _did_ give him was probably the worst he could have given. It was a testament to just how _his_ Sam already was already gone after only two weeks.

Dean closed his eyes to keep himself from breaking down and weeping.

A month… Sam wanted him to let Azazel torture him for another month. Sam wanted him to let Azazel rape his brother for another month. Sam wanted him to let Azazel make his brother torture, kill, and blacken his soul until nothing of him remained. Until Sam _enjoyed_ it too much to want to give it up. Until Sam wouldn’t _want_ to be free of his demon father.

The only reason why Dean had defied Azazel was because of Sam… but without his brother… Yes, he had tried to kill Sam to save him from this, but Azazel had stopped him. But there was nothing to stop him now.

When Dean opened his eyes again they were completely devoid of emotion. If Sam wanted to know what he would become in a month, if he wanted to know what he would be capable of once Azazel was through with him…

Their powers were still twined together, joined, loving, absolutely trusting, and it was no difficulty at all for Dean to turn his power against Sam without warning. No longer warm and caressing, his power turned cold, a violent black and red seething mass as he drew on all of his hatred for the demon who was doing this to his brother and forced it on the one he loved. Sam wasn’t strong enough, not yet, to fight him off… He would rather Sam die at his hand than to become what his father wanted. 

* * *

Sam watched as his brother closed his eyes. He knew what he was asking Dean to do was hard, but what choice did they have? The only chance they had to escape and be free of Azazel, truly free, was to kill him. Sam just wasn't well trained enough. Dean had to know that too. Surely Dean had to see the sense to this. He really wasn't sure a month was going to be enough and he was going to have to push hard to try to be ready in a month. Not that he really had a good measure of time but he guessed it had to be two or three weeks since Azazel had caught them.

Dean simply had to agree to this. It was the only practical plan. He was dreading what he would be forced to do between now and then, and wondered if God could forgive him these things. He wondered if he could ever forgive himself for the things he knew he would do to protect Dean and learn to use his abilities. The more he opened up to the darkness, the more he feared he would lose himself to it. With his brother to hold on to though, he knew he could get through this, he could find a way back to himself. He loved Dean too much not to.

When Dean opened his eyes and looked at him, his heart stopped in his chest. He didn't see love. He didn't see resignation or sadness. Not even hate. Nothing. There was nothing of any sort resembling emotion in those eyes. No! His brother had to understand, this was the only way!

He was not even remotely prepared to feel the love and trust between then turn to ash, to feel the black hatred that wrapped around him, to have the golden spiderweb of gold shredded to nothingness. The sheer hate plowed into him, invaded him, squeezed him. It was killing him. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, he could barely think. His brother hated him that much for this choice? All he felt was the swelling darkness as Dean began to …kill…him.

It didn't require thought. It was instinct. It was survival. His powers reacted, feeding on Dean's own powers, gobbling them up like a starving dog. The chains threading Dean's soul yanked and twisted, attempting to bend Dean to his will. To stop him. The powers destroyed the joining, the union, rebuked that which was Dean.

Every rune carved into the walls lit with fire before they exploded, small shards of rock raining outward from the walls. The door crumbled and the demons that stood outside were sucked dry of their life by Sam as Sam's powers fought against his brother's. The sheer agony of knowing, of feeling, just how much his brother hated him now…there was simply no reason left to fight. No reason left to hold on to the light. His heart all but shattered knowing the depth of Dean's hate for him and he would have crumbled it not for his instinct to survive.

He had one goal now. Kill Azazel. Azazel had killed his mother, ruined his life, destroyed his brother, and now, destroyed their love. He fell into the darkness willingly. He embraced it and let it take him. One goal. Sam turned his now black eyes on Dean and threw him into a wall and held him there.

"I'm sorry," Sammy whispered, tears streaming to his face. "I…I still love you. I'll still save your soul from Azazel. Even though you hate me. Find happiness, brother. Dad will help you."

Just as he had banished the hellhounds without really knowing how, he banished Dean, but banished him to the human world. Out of what love he still felt for Dean, he gave Dean the only bit of hope he could offer. He sent Dean to his father but not before he reforged the chains that Azazel had put on Dean's soul. Dean wouldn't be powerless and unprotected, but he wouldn't have the powers he would have had staying at Sam's side.

He stared a moment at where his brother, his everything, had been. The brother who hated him with every fiber of his body now. He didn't understand how Dean's love had suddenly twisted to such loathing. But he accepted it. His eyes returned to normal and he walked out of the cell, daring any demon to get in his way as he sought out his demon father for his next lesson. Without Dean, he didn't know if he would ever be strong enough to beat Azazel now. But he would try. He would hang on to that singular goal. It really didn't matter what happened to him now. He had nothing left to live for.

 

* * *

He'd been wrong. It seemed like he had been wrong about everything. Nothing but one mistake after another. One failure after another. He'd failed, betrayed, his demon father because he loved Sam. He'd failed his brother, his master, because of the same reason. He should have killed the younger man back in the church. The first time Sam had foolishly gotten within his reach. He should have snapped his neck with his own chains before he'd ever let himself make love to Sam. Before Dean had damned them both…

Dean had been expecting the younger man to fight him, if only out of instinct. There were very few who would not fight, or at least beg, for their life when faced with death. That was one thing Dean had learned well over the years of killing he'd done. He honestly wasn't sure if he could have done… what had to be done… if his brother _did_ start begging for his life. But Sam didn't beg, he fought, and Dean had been wrong. Sam had more than enough strength to fight him. His brother had more than enough power to kill him.

The feeling of Sam sucking at his powers like a ravenous beast, feeding on them, taking his very life force, to fuel his own was so agonizing he couldn't even scream. Dean had no hope, none at all, to fight it. It was worse than when Azazel had tried to steal his soul from his body, because it was Sam doing the ripping now, and maybe Dean could have fought back, resisted… but he didn't.

He'd done this… tried to kill Sam… to save him. But it was obvious to him now that his brother did not want to be saved. It was obvious as he stared into the younger man's black eyes as Sam ripped him apart and tossed him against the wall like a rag doll that it was already too late. He didn't hear what Sam said to him after that, couldn't, through the pain both physical and in his heart. He couldn't even see Sam anymore through his darkening vision, he wasn't sure he wanted to see the sight of those black eyes again. He supposed it didn't matter, he wouldn't have to remember it for long. If Sam wanted to end his life… he wouldn't fight.

But Sam didn't kill him. His brother didn't even care enough to end his life with his own hands. He sent him away… to die alone…

It felt like every cell in his body suddenly exploded and then the pieces were haphazardly forced back together. The human body was not meant to travel the way some demons could, instantly from one place to the next. He might have screamed, he wasn't sure. It might have been Sam's name he called, or his father's, he didn't know.

It didn't kill him. He knew that much. But even as he blacked out Dean knew he would wish it had by the time he awoke again.

* * *

Bobby had headed straight to Jim's. When he passed on the news of the demonic attack underway at his place, John insisted he was well enough to leave the hospital. He was out of ICU at this point, thought still all but bedridden. Reluctantly, Jim agreed to take John to his place to finish his recovery. He insisted they could plan at his place and that John, no matter how tough and macho he wanted to be, just wasn't up to trying to go to the aid of his boys. Certainly not without them having a sensible plan of attack. How they were going to go up against a demon of the caliber of Azazel…the whole situation was just downright frightening.

John had contacted Missouri Mosley, and Missouri confirmed what they all feared when repeated calls to Sam's cell phone garnered no answer. The boys had been taken.

The men poured over books, batted around ideas of how to track down the boys and if they did find them, how the hell they were going to beat the demons. Some sort of mass exorcism was about the best they had at the moment, that and the demonic poison. But any of their ideas were useless if they couldn't find Sam and Dean, and Missouri, for all her talents, couldn't determine where they were. Nor could any of a half a dozen other psychics they contacted.

It had been almost three weeks since Bobby abandoned his home. Jim was up early, getting coffee made and tending to his morning rituals. He had a small plot of land, a farm really, though he only had a few chickens, a barn with some barn cats, and a small garden and a strawberry patch.

He was out feeding the chickens when a chill passed through him so strongly his knees grew weak. Even with his house being on holy ground, he knew something dark had passed by. Had the demons come after them? Perhaps come after John? He hurried back to the house.

The still form lying at the foot of the back steps made his breath catch. He rushed to the naked man's side and rolled him over.

"Dean," Jim hissed softly. Blood trickled from his nose, his ears, even his eyes. He scanned the surrounding area but saw no one and nothing. He propped open the door and with an effort, lifted the muscular young man and carried him inside, settling the young man in his own bed. "Don't worry, Son. We'll take care of you," he murmured softly, praying Dean wasn't sent to them as an enemy.

* * *

John Winchester sat in a chair beside the bed where the far too still form slept. He was barely able to resist the urge to count every shallow breath that… Dean… took.

Dean. His son.

John still couldn't quite believe that he was looking at the face of his four year old son that he had lost more than twenty years ago. That he had mourned for over twenty years. There was very little resemblance to that boy and this man. His hair was darker for one, and even in sleep the angles of his face seemed far too sharp to be his "little" boy. Try as he might, he couldn't see his Dean in this young man's face. Only the face of the man who had nearly tortured him to death mere weeks ago…

It had been two days since the young man had been found by Jim literally on his doorstep. Dean had not woken once during that time. The first day Jim had cared for Dean. John, despite his determination to rescue _both_ his sons when he'd first learned they'd been taken three weeks ago, he simply hadn't been able to look at Dean for very long. Not without the memories of this man laughing as he made him scream coming back to haunt him.

So he and Bobby had done their best to prepare for a demon attack, should one come. Since they had no idea how Dean had gotten here, or why he was here and Sam wasn't.

He and Bobby hadn't exactly been on speaking terms after the blow up between them when the other man told him how he'd abandoned his boys to face the demons themselves. Never mind that Sam had practically forced Bobby to leave and that if he'd stayed the other man would probably be dead now. Never mind that he wasn't angry so much at Bobby as he was at himself, because he hadn't been there at all when Sam and Dean needed him…

John had wanted to leave that day, that hour, that minute. If he drove fast enough maybe he could have gotten there soon enough to help his boys, and Jim and Bobby had to practically restrain him to keep him from doing just that. Not that it was very difficult considering he could barely stand at all. He really shouldn't be sitting in this chair now, and probably wouldn't be able to for much longer, but he would try.

When Dean hadn't woken up the second day, fear for his son began to override the memories of the younger man torturing him. He had lost his four year old son when a demon had taken him and had not even searched for him. He had lost Sam by being more of a drill sergeant than a father, making his boy resent him, even hate him, leave him, and they hadn't even spoken in years till a few weeks ago. Through some miracle John was sure he didn't deserve he had gotten both of his boys back, though the circumstances were far less than ideal, that hardly mattered. He had gotten his sons back and he wasn't going to lose them again.

He was going to find Sam, he was going to save his son, god damn it. But he needed help… he needed to know where Sam was. He needed Dean to tell him… if the younger man would only wake up. John refused to consider the possibility that Dean wouldn't wake up.

* * *

The punishment was so severe Sam almost forgot that to beg them to stop would be worse. When Azazel grew weary of the torture he simply ordered someone else to take over. Sam had always considered agony to be an adequate term to define extreme pain. Not any more. There was no word that could define the pain he endured. Azazel had admonished him, had threatened him, had tended him. There was no doubt that there was some level of pride Azazel had in his accomplishment though. He had shattered ancient runes, he had banished the worthless brother, possibly even killed him, though Sam tried to deny that. He was trying to save Dean even though Dean's love had turned to a black hate like he had never felt. He knew Dean was still alive, he could still feel his soul. When Sam had returned to his demon father after banishing Dean, he had made one thing perfectly clear. The deal still held. No one was to touch Dean.

His father had been quick to point out how the inferior man had betrayed Sam yet again, had tried to kill him, how he obviously hated Sam. Sam held back his tears with effort, knowing they were a weakness Azazel did not tolerate. The fact Sam had released his worthless brother from the cell, that was almost unforgivable. Sam readily accepted the fact he would need to be punished for that. He went to the torture room without a fight. If he had known what was in store for him, he might well have resisted.

In the lulls they gave him, when he had a chance to catch his breath, that was almost worse because there was no new pain to distract from the pain he already suffered. During these times he would reach out to Dean, just to confirm Dean was still alive. He could tell Dean was injured, terribly injured. He had done this to his brother. To the one he loved.

His father was gone for the time being though there were demons still in the room with him. He knew he would pay once again for what he was going to do, but he would willingly pay that price. Dean would not die because of his mistake, because he did not realize that transporting a human the way he had was near deadly. He tried to push past the pain. He harnessed it instead. He took the darkness and pulled it from its place of rest inside him and as he had done before, he attacked the demons in the room with him. He drained them of their lives. His love for Dean was the only reason he could still twist the power gold and he knew it. But he forced it gold all the same and sent it along the chains to attempt to heal his brother. He put everything left in him into it. Even if Dean hated him, he still wanted Dean to live. Maybe find something of the life that was stolen from him those many years ago. He prayed to God, begging it to be enough, begging God to let him be able to heal his brother. That prayer was still on his lips when he passed out.

* * *

John rubbed his hand over his face with a heavy sigh as he pushed himself wearily to his feet, using the very chair he’d been sitting in for support to be sure of his balance and that he would remain standing before slowly making his way to the door. It was late, nearly midnight, but he could smell the coffee someone had made coming from the kitchen. Sometimes it seemed like caffeine and willpower were the only two things that were keeping them all going at this point.

John opened the bedroom door, shutting it behind him, and carefully made his way around Bobby’s old dog laying in the middle of the hallway. The animal had taken up residence there soon after they’d found Dean and had barely left the spot since.

He honestly wasn’t sure what to think of the dog’s vigil outside his son’s room. How had Dean, the man who could do the things… his son had done to him… garner such loyalty in such a short period of time? It gave John some hope that maybe Sam’s faith in his brother wasn’t completely misplaced. At this point they could only hope that if… no when… Dean woke that he wouldn’t immediately try to kill them all.

When John arrived in the kitchen he wasn’t all that surprised to see both Jim and Bobby sitting at the table with a steaming mug. He gave them both a slight nod before going to retrieve his own mug and pour himself a cup.

He tried not to look too hopeful as he lowered himself slowly into a chair at the table as well. He knew Jim and Bobby had been taking turns using their contacts to try to find Sam and also come up with something they could use to take down the son of a bitch demon that had taken his boys and killed his wife.

***

He wasn’t so much floating in darkness as he was drowning in it. Like a great black sea of nothingness all around him. He sunk deeper and deeper until he could see and hear nothing else. There was not even the faintest bit of light, not even the smallest whisper of sound. He had no idea how long he was here, alone, in the dark. It felt like an eternity and a split second at the same time. He wasn’t sure he wanted to leave.

Because outside of the darkness, outside of the cold numb sea of black, there was nothing but pain waiting for him. He was tired… so damned tired… his whole life had been nothing but pain save for a few brief respites. He’d had enough. He had nothing left, no reason to go on. He just wanted to stay here, die here, maybe he would go to hell, but he could hope he could stay in this black nothing forever.

As usual, he had no choice in the matter. He’d never had a choice his whole life, so why should now be any different?

It was just a flicker of light. Barely more than a candle’s flame, but it might as well have been the sun because of how dark it had been for so long. It practically blinded him but he couldn’t close his eyes against it. It wrapped around him, warming his numbed flesh. It started to lift him up, pushing him towards the surface.

“Sam…” His brother’s name escaped Dean’s lips on the first real breath he took, his eyes slowly sliding open. 

* * *

Jim gave John a weary smile. The man still belonged in a hospital and they all knew it, but John Winchester and stubborn ass might as well by synonymous. Both Jim and Bobby had called on anyone and everyone that might have even the smallest glimmers of hope of knowing anything. They had made some small degree of progress.

“Daniel Elkins,” Bobby said, “he’s got the Colt. The infamous Colt that can supposedly kill anything. He said it can. Reluctantly, extremely reluctantly, he’s agreed to let us use it, providing it’s returned to him when we’re done getting Sam back. He made me promise we'd only use it on Azazel himself. Apparently Samuel Colt only made a small number of bullets and there ain’t too many left."

After taking a sip of his black coffee, Bobby continued. “Heard from both Caleb and Jefferson. Both managed to track down demons. When either Sam Winchester or Azazel was brought up, the demons clammed up tight. Caleb said his demon implied Sam wasn’t being held in Hell proper but some sort of place in between, kinda like purgatory or something’.”  
  
As wrong as it felt, Jim gave a long sigh and voiced the idea he had been hoping they didn’t have to turn to. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to do it. But they were about out of options and he feared Sam was running out of time, if it wasn’t too late already. They couldn’t be sure of anything until Dean woke up and could hopefully fill them in. If Dean woke up.

“I can do the spell to summon an angel of the Lord. I’ve enough demon blood in me I think to succeed. Though honestly, with Dean here, his blood would be much more powerful and we would be more likely to succeed. But,” Jim sighed again, dry scrubbing his face with his hand, “it is dangerous. It is demon magic we’re using. Both Dean and I have demon blood and the angel may not care what side of good or evil we fall on and might well smite us regardless. If the angel appears in its true form, while a demon might be able to tolerate it, I’m not sure we could and survive. I’m also not sure it would be willing to help us. I don’t have any idea where the saving of your son falls in the cosmic scale of things. If Dean doesn’t wake up in the next day, I think we better be thinking about trying it.”

 

* * *

Ceiling… walls… bed… sheets…

Items in the room slowly swam into focus. With it came the knowledge that he had no idea where he was. Perhaps it should have been disconcerting, but Dean couldn’t really bring himself to care.

He was alive. At the moment the young man honestly didn’t believe that was a good thing. His whole body felt like it had been crushed and ground down into dust. Breathing hurt. Even blinking seemed to hurt. But all the pain in his body was nothing compared to the pain he felt in his very soul. His memories felt like the only thing inside of him that wasn’t broken. He wished they were. He wished he didn’t remember. Unfortunately he remembered everything.

Sam…

Moving really should have been the last thing on his mind. Maybe he simply wanted the pain he knew would result. Somehow he managed to push himself up on shaking arms. The effort left him panting and sweating, but he didn’t stop moving. If he stopped moving then he’d simply fall back to the bed. He swung his legs over the side and grabbed the edge of a chair to force himself up on watery legs.

He didn’t bother to cover his nakedness as he made his way slowly towards the door. Each step as agonizing as the last. Dean wasn’t all that certain how he managed to make it to the door but he did. He used the door to support himself and opened it at the same time.

***

The colt… John had heard about that gun, of course, but he almost hadn’t believed it still existed, that it hadn’t been destroyed at some point. If they could get that gun it could certainly give them an advantage they wouldn’t have normally. Being able to kill a demon rather than relying on exorcising or devils traps? Of course, it was a little hard to believe that a simple bullet might be able to kill a demon like Azazel. Whatever Elkins said or not, John wasn’t willing to go barging in to wherever they were holding his son without at least testing the gun first.

Some kind of demon purgatory… that certainly didn’t make things any easier for them. At least it wasn’t hell. Opening a hell gate wasn’t something that John particularly wanted to do, not that he wouldn’t, to get his boy back. Still, getting into whatever borderline dimension that Azazel had taken Sam wasn’t going to be any easier. It could be one of thousands. When Dean woke up, maybe he could tell them more…

When Jim mentioned the spell about summoning an angel, John’s eyebrows rose a bit. While there was plenty of lore on angels, none of it was really substantial. While one might argue that because there were demons and a hell there had to be angels and a heaven too, it certainly wasn’t any kind of proof. Just like vampires and werewolves were nothing like their literature and movie counterparts, angels might be nothing like their biblical descriptions.

Hearing Jim suggest that they use his son’s blood for the summoning ritual did not sit well with John at all, especially if they didn’t even know if whatever they summoned might just go after Dean and even Jim. Knowing his sons had demon blood in them was shocking enough, but when Jim had filled in his own experiences with demon blood and magic, it had been even more unbelievable.

John did not want to resort to that. Not when the risks were so great. He didn’t want to sacrifice one of his sons for the other, he couldn’t, the very thought made him break out in a cold sweat, but they were running out of time. He could feel it. They had to find Sam soon. If Dean didn’t wake up they didn’t have very many choices left to find his boy…

“If… he doesn’t wake up…” John reluctantly agreed. If Jim just needed Dean’s blood to perform the ritual, not Dean himself, maybe he could use that and Dean wouldn’t even need to be nearby.

The dog’s sudden bark from down the hall shocked him and he stood up perhaps a little too quickly. But whatever discomfort or weakness John might have felt evaporated in an instant when he looked down the hall to see his son standing there, naked, looking like death warmed over, but he was awake. John was barely able to feel relief, because a second later the young man’s legs were giving out beneath him and he was falling.

“Dean!”

* * *

When Rumsfeld barked, Bobby was used to reacting instantly. He was on his feet and, at seeing the pale young man in the hallway begin to collapse, he was at Dean's side before John or Jim had barely begun to move. Rumsfeld was gently nuzzling Dean and whining worriedly.

Bobby scooped the young man up and carried him back in to the bed. "It's okay, Dean," he soothed. "Yer safe, boy. We're here for you. You've had me and Jim and your dad worried sick about you. Rumsfeld too." Bobby stuffed some pillows behind Dean to help prop him up. He could see the pain in the man's face.

"We've got some morphine if you want, or just some Vicodin if you'd rather?"

Rumsfeld had followed Bobby into the room and put his front paws up on the bed. He licked Dean's hand, barked once, then licked Dean's hand again with a soft whine. The old mechanic patted his dog's head. "See? Worried as hell. Practically haven't been able to get him to move from guarding your door."

Sounds at the doorway drew the hunter's attention and he saw Jim holding a glass of water. Bobby accepted the offered glass and held it up to Dean's lips giving Dean small sips.

As John made his way into the room, Jim moved aside but stood ready to help the father he needed it.

* * *

Dean wasn’t sure why he was so surprised to come face to face with the hunters, Sam’s... friends... Sam could have sent him anywhere on the planet, and Sam had sent him here? Why? To let the hunters kill him? To give them some kind of message? Was that what Sam had been telling him before...

He wasn’t all that surprised when his body began to give out beneath him. Dean was probably a bit more surprised that he had gotten this far under his own power. He shouldn’t have been able to. He probably shouldn’t even be alive now, much less conscious and more or less lucid. He didn’t know why he was.

Dean was a little surprised however that when his legs gave way that he did not end up in a heap on the floor. That one of the hunters... Bobby... had caught him, steadied him, and then carried him with far more gentleness than Dean knew he deserved back to the bed. He had absolutely no strength to resist the treatment.

Safe? Worried? Dean stared at the grizzled old hunter as though he were speaking a different language. Why should he be safe here? These men, more than any others, should want to see him hurt and punished, for what he had allowed to happen to Sam. Why should these men give a damned about him?

Dean’s eyes slid wearily away from Bobby down to the dog licking at his hand. It felt... strange... He honestly wasn’t even sure if his own hand belonged to him.

The young man managed a small shake of his head when Bobby offered him painkillers. Dean didn’t want any. Any pain he was in he deserved.

The cool glass pressed to his lips shocked him a moment, but he didn’t resist as the older man fed him water. His throat was so parched it felt like he had been swallowing sand. Somehow his hand found its way on top of the dog’s head, absently stroking the animal like Bobby had. Dean could hear the thumping of the dogs tail on the floor.

It was a little ironic that the injuries Dean had given John were what kept him from going to his son’s aid now, and yet, John’s anger at his inability to help his boy was only directed at himself. He stood back as Bobby helped the younger man back to the bedroom and Jim fetched some water. At least the injured young man seemed somewhat at ease around them. The last time Dean had seen him however...

So John Winchester stood back in the doorway of the room, even though the father in him wanted to be right there beside his son’s bed helping him, the hunter in him was cautious. More for Dean’s safety than his own. The younger an looked so damned frail...

Once Dean was done drinking John moved a little closer and Dean’s eyes slowly swung to him. There was no real emotion in his son’s eyes, at least none that John could name. They were the very same eyes that John still had nightmares of sometimes, and yet they were so different now. Not cocky or confident or cruel... just defeated... and that frightened John a lot more than anything right now.

“Dean? What happened? Sam?” John began but at the mere mention of his brother’s name Dean’s face twisted into such a mask of grief he swore his heart stopped beating for a few moments. 

* * *

"Jim, get the morphine. The boy's hurting," Bobby said. "And get some broth. Hard tellin' when the last time was he was fed." He ran his hand along Dean's soft hair trying to comfort him. They had cleaned Dean up, neither him or Jim commenting on the fact they were washing away come along with dirt. The suspicion it was Sam's come had encouraged them that Sam was okay, though neither could bring themselves to tell John that his sons were…in love…with each other. John didn't need to deal with that on top of everything else.

"It's okay, Dean," Bobby said softly. "We're here for you. You're not alone. You don't have to be alone in this, okay?"

He glanced up at John who had moved to stand by the bed. "Yer daddy's here, and he wants to help if you'll let him.

"We've been working on some plans to rescue you," Bobby continued. "We're getting a gun that can kill demons and we're getting a good stockpile of the demon poison made up. We know Azazel came. We know he took you to some sort of in between dimension." Bobby paused hating to bring up Sam's name seeing the way even Sam's name hurt Dean. The young man considered Sam his master and was in love with him. If Sam sent him away, or if he made a deal for Azazel to release Dean, it would crush Dean and Sam wouldn't really understand that.

"Did Sam make a deal to free you? Had Azazel send you here to us? He knew we'd be making plans to rescue you two. He sent you here to help us, help us rescue him. He is…he is still alive, isn't he?" Bobby asked.

* * *

He didn’t want drugs. He didn’t want food. He didn’t want comfort. Dean knew he deserved all the pain he was in right now and more and he wouldn’t allow the men to take that away from him. Dean knew he deserved to die slowly and painfully of starvation, Sam wanted him dead, and he wouldn’t do anything to prolong his life.

When the older man began petting his hair, much like he’d pet the animal, Dean turned his face away slightly from the touch. His own hand dropped away, back down to rest limply against the comforter of the bed. He ignored the dog’s nuzzling and faint whimpering.

Dean didn’t answer the older hunter at first. Though his eyes flickered briefly to the man standing behind Bobby, the hunter he had tortured and nearly killed. Sam’s father… not his… Of course he was alone. He wanted to be alone. He deserved to be alone. He deserved nothing less than to suffer and die alone and in pain for failing Sam.

It was all he could do not to laugh bitterly when the hunter began to describe the “plans” they’d been making to rescue “him”. Not him really though, Dean knew that, to rescue Sam. Nothing they could do would help Sam now. It was too late. Whatever dislike he might have for the hunters who were… who had been… Sam’s friends Dean knew he would take no pleasure in informing them of this.

Dean knew he did not have to answer Bobby’s questions. He could simply stand by and do nothing while the foolish hunters went to their deaths. But he knew Sam, his Sam, not Azazel’s Sam, wouldn’t want him to let that happen. Sam would want him to answer their questions and that was the only reason why he did.

“Sam made a deal… to accept our father’s training, to serve him, if Azazel left me untouched.” Dean whispered, his voice still hoarse despite the water he drank. “Sam wanted me to wait… to let the darkness have him, train him, to use it to kill Azazel… I disobeyed…”

Dean turned his head to look at the older man straight in the eyes. Fully prepared to accept any punishment the hunter would give him for his failure. For what he had done…

“I tried to kill him. Sam… I couldn’t… It was too late, he was too strong, too much darkness… He punished me for my disobedience and sent me away to die.” 

* * *

Bobby heard John's sharp inhalation at Dean's words, but he kept his gaze locked with the young man's. "Dean, you only know the way of demons. Sam don't think like a demon. He don't think like a slave owner. Sam thinks like a human. He didn't send you away to die. He sent you away to live. If he had wanted you to die, he would have plopped your butt down in the middle of the desert. He sent you to us. His family. Your family. He wanted us to help you. Wanted you to help us. Think Dean. When you couldn't eat unless you were given food, he didn't understand. He didn't understand anything about owning you.

"You know what he'll do for family or anyone he loves. He loves you Dean. He sold his soul to save you. If you…when you tried to kill him, I understand why and I'm sure he does too, that you were trying to save him. That's your job as his slave. To protect him."

Bobby debated long and hard about his next words. They could end up biting him in the ass. "You failed when you tried to kill yourself, trying to protect him from Azazel. But you only failed because he wouldn't let you go, because he loves you so damned much. You failed when you you tried to protect him this time, when you tried to save him from the darkness. You failed because his mind was made up about what he was going to do."

Bobby's words grew hard. "Don't you damned well fail him again. He's countin' on you, boy. He's countin' on you helping us get to him. He's countin' on you coming to help him, to save him. He don't think like a demon, he thinks like a hunter. If he wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Like a hunter, he hung himself out as bait so you could get to safety, because he would die to protect you. And he knows you're his only possible chance of rescue. You oughtta know that too. You're dark as sin, Dean, but he taught you real love. You changed your allegiance from Azazel to him. For him. We all love him, son, so he's got four people's love trying to bring him back from whatever darkness he's slipped into. Dean, if he could bring you to abandon Azazel, don't you think we got us a damned fine chance of bringing him back from the dark? Stop acting like a damned whipped pup. Unless you really don't love him and don't want him back."

* * *

It was difficult to listen to Bobby try to explain things to Dean in terms that he could understand. Bobby and Jim had both tried to prepare John a little to deal with his son, and even that hadn’t been easy. Hearing how Dean thought of Sam as his master, how the younger man wouldn’t eat unless he was given food, and that was certainly just the tip of the iceberg… His son was raised by demons, taught how to behave like a demon, a slave, how was he, a father, supposed to react to that?

He had no idea. That was why as difficult as it was for John Winchester to just stand back and let Bobby speak to Dean… his son… but what else could he really do? Bobby knew the younger man far better than John did. John was worse than a stranger to the boy… man… he was an enemy. He hadn’t missed the look in Dean’s eyes when they’d slid to him all too briefly.

Hearing Dean say how he had tried to kill Sam… it wasn’t easy. Not in the least, and he couldn’t have hid his reaction even if he tried. He was caught between horror and anger, and to his shame he didn’t know whether more of that anger was directed at the demon who had taken his sons or Dean himself for trying to kill his own brother…

He tried to understand. He really did. The way Dean had been… raised… John’s stomach clenched and he had a hard time containing the nausea he felt just at the thought. Maybe Dean had thought killing Sam would somehow save him. Protect him. A quick death versus unimaginable torture… John himself wasn’t sure he could make such a choice. Even if there were no other options and death was the far more merciful of the two.

Maybe John was angrier at himself then. Because he wasn’t sure if he would be strong enough to kill someone he loved even if it meant sparing them…

To his further shame John couldn’t quite hide his growing frustration as Bobby spoke to the younger man, tried to convince Dean to help them find Sam, and the younger man’s expression didn’t change once. If Dean didn’t help them then their chances of finding Sam were next to nothing.

Dean’s eyes met the hunter’s, steady and resigned, and he didn’t even flinch at the older man’s last harsh words. For all his talk of Sam not “understanding” the ways of demons, it was this man who was wrong. Sam understood the ways of demons now far better than most humans ever could. Yes, Sam could have easily killed him and Sam almost had. But Dean was not even worthy enough for the final blow by his master’s hand. For his disobedience the younger man could have tortured him as punishment, but he hadn’t. Instead he had thrown him away… like a worthless scrap of meat…

Yes, he had failed Sam. He was well aware of that, of all of his failures. He was well aware that his punishment was well deserved. If Sam hadn’t meant for him to die, than he surely meant for him to suffer. Alone. Without a master. Without anything. These men… family? Perhaps Sam had meant for them to kill him when they found him, did the hunter ever think of that? Without Sam’s “protection” after all, he was only an enemy. The only reason why Dean would not kill them was because Sam had once ordered him not to.

“He understands the ways of demons now far better than you ever will. He did not sell his soul for me, but it doesn’t matter. He is no longer Sam. If you go to find him, all you will find is your own deaths, by his hand.” Dean shook his head slightly and turned his eyes away from the hunters to stand blankly at the wall instead. “It doesn’t matter if you go to him or not. He will come to find you soon enough.”

* * *

John rested his hand on Bobby's shoulder. "Let me speak with my son," John said a little gruffer than he meant to, his emotions of anger and shame and frustration all warring inside of him. He settled into the chair Bobby vacated.

"Dean," John began and felt his throat suddenly close. He had to take a moment to regain his voice. Everything, all his mourning for his dead son, now knowing that in truth he had failed his eldest, it seemed to overwhelm him.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," John whispered softly. He looked into those emotionless eyes and found tears slipping down his cheeks. His failure had turned his boy into this. "I didn't know. God, son, I didn't know it took you. I never would have stopped looking for you if I had even suspected that bastard stole you away from us. I thought—I thought you died in the fire. I thought you hid or tried to get out and couldn't find your way. There was nothing left of Mary. Mary, that's your mom. They didn't find anything of you either. I just-I just assumed I'd lost you both. Just Sammy and me, all that was left of our family." John twisted his head to look up at Bobby. "My journal." John had to clear his throat and tried again. "Bobby, bring my journal. It's on the kitchen table."

John turned back to stare into those cold, defeated green eyes and took Dean's hand. He suddenly didn't give one god-damned bit that this man had tried to kill him. Dean hadn't known who John was. He was just doing his job, the job Azazel made him do. "Your eyes. They're the same color as Mary's were. You look like her. A little bit. Anyone that knew her, they'd say you took after her. When Sammy told me you were Dean, my Dean, I--" John started to shrug but winced as some of the bandages pulled across some of his still healing injuries. "I could hardly believe it." He gave a wan smile. "Honestly, it was such a shock, my heart—I nearly died when I learned that I had failed you so horribly."

Bobby returned with his journal and John let go of Dean's hand. He opened up the worn leather bound book and out of the front pocket he withdrew some pictures. A picture of a much younger self grinning foolishly at the camera, Mary right beside him was the first one he extracted, showing it to Dean.

"This was your mom. It wasn't too long after this picture that Mary and I went on a white water rapid trip. She was fearless," he said, recalling her fondly. "We stopped after running some rapids and pulled the boat up on shore." He turned the picture so he could see it and stared lovingly at his Mary. "She decided to play hide and seek. I chased her all around those woods. She left little clues, and then," John chuckled, "pieces of clothing. I caught up with her pretty fast after that and," John straightened, flushing just a little. "Well, nine months later you were born. That was one of the happiest days of my life. Right up there with marrying your mother, when Sammy was born, watching you take your first steps and the first time you called me 'Daddy.' I guess you don't remember anything before you were taken though, huh?" John laid the picture out on the bed and pulled out another one. "This is you at Halloween. You insisted on being Superman. This was the year before Sammy was born." He showed Dean the worn picture. The young boy had a huge grin on his face and held his cape out behind him, his eyes shining with joy and innocence.

"Here, this one is all four of us. Sam was four months old." John laughed a little. "You insisted on holding him. I was going to have you in my lap and Mary was going to hold Sammy, but you insisted and so we put you in the chair and laid Sammy in your lap. You were so excited whenever you got to hold him. You would help take care of him. You practically hovered around him from the day he was born. He missed you as much as I did after the fire. You could always get him to quiet down, you always had a sort of special bond with him."

John left the pictures on the bed for Dean. "I guess more special than I ever realized. Please, Dean. It nearly killed me when I lost you. I can't lose Sammy to that demon bastard too. Please help us save him."

* * *

Dean’s eyes shifted to the hunter and narrowed a fraction when the older man, Sam’s father, approached him. Having the nerve to call him _son_ of all things. This man who he had tortured. Made scream. Beg... He might have this man’s blood running through his veins, but he also had Azazel’s. He might hate his demon father with every fiber of his being right now, but that did not mean he would accept this man as his father instead.

Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting this man to say. Did he really think he could convince him to do anything? He did not care about this man. He did not care about anything, not even his own life. He had lost the only thing he had ever cared for, and there was nothing this man could say or do that would change that.

Whatever he’d been expecting, hearing the older man _apologize_ to him was probably the last thing. The... tears... were even more unexpected. Dean had to inflict a great deal of pain on this man before he had seen tears. He had screamed, he had cursed, he had choked on his own blood... but the tears came last. Dean had been proud to see them then, now... they only made him feel uncomfortable. As the hunter apologized for not coming after him, for leaving him in the hands of his demon father...

Dean’s eyes flickered down to his hand when the older man touched him, and it was all he could do not to yank his hand back as though John Winchester had burned him. But he refused to let his emotions show, he refused to give the other man the pleasure of seeing just how uncomfortable the older man was making him feel.

His eyes... the priest... Jim... had said something similar about his eyes. How they looked like his mother’s... he’d never had a mother, just a father... he wasn’t even sure what “mother” meant. He knew in the physical sense, of course. The woman who had given birth to him, to Sam... but that was all the word meant to him. Nothing more...

Hearing the older man say he nearly died when Sam told him about him... his Dean... for failing him... he wasn’t sure how to feel about that either. All Dean knew was he was glad when the older man finally let go of his hand. But if there was one thing Dean knew well, it was the pain of failure. How he’d failed Sam...

The picture the older man showed him. He recognized the older man of course, well, younger, but he didn’t recognize the woman standing with him. Dean didn’t have to recognize her however go guess who she must be. Soft, pale blonde hair. Eyes, green, like his own. A kind warm smile. Soft humming... a song... no words... just a gentle melody he used to fall asleep to when he was scared. Sometimes he would hum it to himself but it was never as comforting and always made him cry...

The picture of the boy seemed even more foreign to him, even though he recognized it as himself, he did not remember ever... smiling like that. Ever looking that happy. Without pain. Without scars. Just a boy...

The last picture the other man showed him, of his... family... of the boy holding the baby... Dean felt his throat close up. He felt tears in his own eyes and couldn’t hold them back. They felt like they burned his skin as they slid down his cheeks. Even though it felt almost sacrilegious to touch the faded precious photographs he couldn’t help reaching out to the one with him and Sam when they were laid on the bed. Almost needing to touch it. Sam...

But he never got the chance to.

The sudden intense pain that slammed into him made his back arch off the bed as he screamed. He knew exactly what it was of course. He had felt pain like it many times before. Only he knew it was not him who was enduring it. Not directly anyway. But without the runes in that cell that had contained his powers, practically cutting him off from Sam, even at such a distance he felt everything that the younger man was going through. If it felt this bad for him...

“SAM!” 

* * *

John was a little surprised to see the young man's tears, but elated. He had reached him! Even if Dean refused to help them, he had reached his son, touched him. That in itself bolstered him. Maybe he could get something of his son back, something that demon hadn't destroyed in his precious, innocent little boy. He watched as the man's eyes focused on the picture of their family and began to reach for it. John had long since scanned in the pictures and had them backed up in a few places. If Dean wanted these pictures, even though they were the originals, he would give them to his son. He could get copies printed off for himself. He had more pictures in one of his storage lockers, but these, and a few with just him and Sam that he hadn't shown Dean, were the ones he carried with him in his journal.

When Dean bucked up in obvious agony screaming Sam's name, John felt his heart all but stop in his chest. What the hell…?

"Dammit," Bobby cursed. "It's good, but dammit,"

John stood and spun on the older man. "What's going on?"

Bobby motioned Jim forward with the morphine. "Looks like Sammy owns Dean's soul. They're connected, more than they had been. At least Azazel doesn't have it any more. Sammy's…that's his pain Dean's feeling."

"What can we do?" John demanded, looking at his son writhe in pain and feeling utterly helpless. Sam was going through this sort of pain? Azazel was getting two for the price of one? No, god dammit. No!

"Hold him John," Jim said.

John put both arms across Dean's chest, holding him long enough for Jim to be able to get the morphine into the young man. "We can put some runes around the house. It won't block the connection, but it should make it tolerable for Dean."

"They're torturing Sammy?" John asked softly.

Jim and Bobby passed a sorrowful glance.

"We'll rescue him, John," Jim assured the distraught father. "We'll get him out. You stay with your son. Bobby and I will get the runes up. I gave Dean enough morphine that he ought to fall asleep pretty fast. When he does, come on out and help us."

John nodded wordlessly and sat back down. He moved the pictures off the bed and gripped his son's hand. He stroked Dean's forehead, sweeping back the now sweat soaked locks. He sang softly to Dean just as he had when Dean had been so ill with a high fever that one time just after he turned four. It was probably silly. Dean was in his mid twenties now, but John didn't know what else to do. He wasn't sure his tortured boy even heard him.

* * *

Sam...

Dean moaned and writhed on the bed. Sweat slicking his skin and his face now wet with tears of a different kind as Sam’s pain washed over him in waves. If he could open his eyes he knew he would be shocked not to see his own chest being opened up by a white hot knife. Burning and cauterizing the skin even as it sliced him open. God... was this what Sam felt when they were boys? When he was the one being tortured and Sam could do nothing but feel the pain, no way to stop it, or even understand why it was happening?

He felt the hands holding him down against the bed and though he thrashed he couldn’t break their hold, he was simply too weak. The needle piercing his skin went almost unnoticeable compared to every other pain he was feeling. Yet even the agony he was feeling seemed inconsequential compared to his despair, and he wondered if this was the reason why Sam had kept him alive. So he would be able to feel everything the younger man went through, no way to stop it. Every lash, every burn, every cut reminding him of how he had failed to spare Sam this...

Eventually a sluggishness began to sweep through his body and even though it didn’t really do much to dampen the pain he felt coming from Sam, it forced his already weak muscles to relax and lie still. He couldn’t stop the soft whimpers and moans from escaping his throat however. Echoing what he knew had to be horrible screams coming from Sam.

Sam... I’m sorry... Sammy...

Dean barely felt the hand holding his own or the fingers running through his sweat soaked hair. He did hear the soft... singing... however. So damned familiar. Like from an old nearly forgotten dream. The words fitting the melody in his head perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle clicking together.

Azazel had made him call him “father” but he had refused to call the demon...

“Daddy...” The word barely slipped from his lips as a breath before Dean fell back into that much longed for see of nothingness. 

* * *

John watched as Dean relaxed. He was surely still in pain as his moans proved. John wiped away the tears gingerly from Dean's face. This young man was nothing like the cold hearted bastard who had tortured him. This young man was his boy and John would do anything for him. If John's torture had been the start of regaining his family, it was a small price to pay. Now they just had to get his youngest back.

His breath caught as he heard 'Daddy' whisper from Dean's lips before his moans stopped and he fell unconscious. John couldn't stop his tears. Just like when Dean had been four, he kissed Dean lightly on the cheek. "That's right Son. Dad's here. We'll get through this, I promise you. We'll get through this."

He released Dean's hand and gently laid it on the sheets. He had no delusions that when Dean woke back up, the hard hearted man with the emotionless eyes would return. But somewhere inside of that man was his little boy and his little boy knew him. It would take time, but they would build the bridges of trust and love and he would just have to be patient.

He walked slowly out to the kitchen where a variety of bottles and herbs were scattered across one corner of the table.

"Bobby? Jim?"

"Living room," Bobby called.

John walked unsteadily out to the other room. He needed sleep and his body needed rest. But not until his son was safe from the tortures being wreaked on his other son. Jim took one look at John and shook his head.

"Go get some sleep," Jim ordered.

"I'm fine," John insisted.

"We're going to need you healthy for what's ahead. You won't be unless you rest."

"He called me 'Daddy,'" John said softly looking between his two dearest friends. "He was falling asleep, I know he won't remember, but he called me Daddy."

Jim left the wall where he was neatly drawing protective runes and came over to rest a hand on John's shoulder. "You'll get both your boys back, Jonathon. Have faith. And please, go get some rest. Bobby and I can do this. We're only doing half the house so if Dean needs to, he's got a few rooms he can step into and still have his full connection with Sam. Besides, we're going to need a room to work the spell if that's what we decide to do."

"And which spell is that?"

"Summoning an angel."

"Still got a lot of things we need to get for it and a few, don't rightly know how we're going to get them," Bobby said, "but we'll find a way."

John wanted to help with the runes, but he was having trouble even keeping his eyes open at this point. Wearily he nodded his head and just simply sank onto the soft cushions of the couch. He was so tired.

Jim handed John a throw pillow and a blanket then went back to work. John hadn't much more than laid down and sleep swallowed him.  


* * *

  


Dean hadn’t meant to disobey. He simply couldn’t resist the pull. It was never really a conscious decision on his part when he… traveled… to see the boy in his dreams. Just as he was certain it wasn’t a conscious effort on Sam’s when the younger boy had come to him when he was in pain. Offering comfort…

He could offer no comfort to Sam now, unfortunately, because the torture was still happening. All he could do was stand there, insubstantial, nothing more than a ghost, no power to stop what was happening. No way to stop Azazel from hurting his brother… only able to watch and feel…

The knowledge that he wouldn’t have been able to stop it even if he had been there physically and not just a shadow offered Dean no comfort at all. It only made him feel more useless, more hopeless, more a failure… if only he had been strong enough, Sam wouldn’t be enduring such horrible pain now. It would be him on the rack screaming, crying, begging…

Not that Dean didn’t scream, cry, and beg now but it was all without sound. His unconscious body might not be feeling what Sam felt, or at least did not express it while he was unconscious, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel everything. Watching Sam go through it was so much worse than feeling it himself.

He wondered if Sam knew he was there. He wondered if Sam felt him or saw him. He wondered what Sam would do to him once he knew he was there. Sam had sent him away and he was defying his master yet again by being here now. It might be torture, in more ways than one, but still just being able to see Sam again… even knowing the younger man no longer wanted him… Dean would have endured any pain, any torture. 

 

* * *

 

He just wanted it to stop. He deserved it, he knew that. He had killed two of Azazel's demons. Already he was still paying for having sent Dean away to his family and this trespass only made it worse. He couldn't have held back his screams if his life depended on it. Almost, he wished he had let Dean succeed in killing him. He wished he was sure, god he wished he was sure Dean was alive. He was in too much pain to even begin to try to search Dean out and reassure himself though. If he didn't know Azazel wanted him alive, he could have easily believed the demon planned on killing him. The scorching hot knife sliced deeply down his back and he shrieked as he arched and tried to get away from the agony. He voice was pretty much gone at this point so his scream was more a high pitched groan. Azazel had traded out the shackles for iron hooks. It had been worse at first, but now the other pain made it little more than background noise.

Azazel stopped for a minute, studying the tools laid out on the carts as he set the cooling knife aside. Nothing like the smell of burned flesh and pain to invigorate a soul; so bracing.

Sam's breathing was labored. His mouth was dry and he was hungry. Sort of. Water. Water would have been really good. He didn't dare ask for it. He saw it sitting on the table as it always was. Ice cubes melting in it like always. Taunting condensation dripping down its crystalline sides.

A presence. He felt something, something faint but there, something so familiar. He blinked, as he lifted his head, trying to see through the blood that had dripped into his eyes.

Dean! He couldn't stop his grin even though it hurt and he couldn't stop the joy that burst in his heart. It was Dean's ghostly presence, they way they used to travel to one another. Unless of course it was just a pain induced hallucination. He preferred the former rather than latter explanation because that meant Dean was okay. The pain he saw in Dean's eyes cut him deeper than anything Azazel could do. There was no hate in Dean's eyes, only misery.

_I love you,_ Sam mouthed, tears slipping down his face, not caring Azazel would punish him for them. _I love you, I love you, I love you. Always._  


* * *

It went on for hours. Dean wasn’t exactly sure how long. He often lost track even when it was himself on the rack. He often didn’t know whether or not it had been hours or days until someone told him. Often it felt like days, even when it had only been hours.

Dean knew that if Azazel hadn’t been training Sam how to endure pain over these last few weeks then the younger man would probably be dead by now. He knew all too well that Azazel had no intention of actually killing Sam. Even if he didn’t know what the demon wanted his brother for he would have known. Because as bad as this was, Dean had seen what Azazel did to those he did not intend to keep alive and it was far worse than this. But then again, even as horrible as it was, there was always an end in sight for them. For Sam… there would be none…

These thoughts did not comfort Dean in the least, but he couldn’t stop thinking them. There wasn’t much else _to_ think as he writhed and moaned in agony on the floor in response to the pain Sam was feeling. It took him a few moments to realize that Azazel was taking a “break” with his brother. It took him even longer to lift his head and realize that Sam now knew he was there. The younger man staring right at him…

He’d almost been afraid to see black eyes, glaring at him with hate, before Sam punished him for being here. But the expression on Sam’s face was anything but hate, and when the younger man tried to… smile… at him… even though his pain, the silent words he didn’t need to hear to understand… Dean felt like his chest had been cracked open and he couldn’t have stopped the tears if he tried. Sam wasn’t angry he was here, he wanted him here, Sam loved him… If Sam still loved him, even despite Dean’s failure, maybe it wasn’t too late…

Dean pushed himself up and went to his brother, not caring in the least that Azazel was right there, that the demon might sense his presence. He cupped his brother’s face in his hands, trying to caress away the tears and blood as much as he could. He pressed his lips to the younger man’s bloodied ones and hating that he was so damned insubstantial.

_I’m coming for you. We’re coming for you._ Dean whispered against his brother’s mouth. He didn’t know if Sam could hear or understand him, they could never share words before, but Dean still said them. Hoping his brother understood even if he didn’t hear him. Praying Sam could hold on, and that there would be enough left of his brother… even if there wasn’t… Dean would gladly die by Sam’s hand rather than live without him. 

* * *

Sam felt the light touch, little more than a breath of air, as Dean's hands roamed over his face, though Dean's hand were too insubstantial to do anything. Still Sam managed a smile and stared into those eyes that now seem so hopeful. The brush of Dean's lips against his mouth were a sweet blessing. He wished he could taste him, wished he could touch him.

Dean didn't hate him for his decision. Maybe it had just been a flash of anger and the hate Dean had poured into the attack had just been a tool to access power. Sam was still glad he had sent Dean away, out of the demon's immediate reach. Dean would have warmth and food and love with his friends and father. He knew Dean was saying something through their kiss, but he couldn't tell what the words were. Even so he felt the hope and determination that filled Dean…if he could feel Dean this strongly then all the pain he felt…

Mentally Sam scrambled to bring up shields to try to protect Dean from Sam's pain. He made certain he filled Dean with all the love in his heart before he did. He knew that between their 'connection' and the fact Sam owned Dean's soul, Dean had to feel practically everything. He realized now that Dean had protected him from the true pain the older boy—man—had felt throughout all those years of torture.

He didn't want Dean to think he didn't want him, he just wanted Dean protected from the excruciating torture Azazel was putting him through. Dean pulled back from their kiss and Sam stared into his brother's eyes. _Love you,_ he mouthed as he brought up the shields, hoping it was enough to protect Dean at least some.

His concentration faltered when he felt Azazel's touch on his back. Without warning Azazel plunged his cock deeply into him as the demon reached around and stroked him.

"You feel so hot, so tight, Sammy," Azazel said into Sam's ear as he slid in and out of him. He licked up the side of Sam's neck, savoring the blood and sweat. He buried himself deeply in the human and forced Sam to turn his head and captured Sam's mouth, invading it as he invaded Sam's body. He stroked Sam until Sam was hard and finally broke their kiss.

"Ride my cock, Sammy. Ride me hard." Azazel demanded.

Sam saw Dean watching them and felt sick. He didn't want Dean to see this but he had no choice. He forced himself to climb to his feet and did as his demon father ordered. Azazel continued to stroke Sam's cock as he groaned in approval. He brought Sam up to the edge then stopped stroking him. "Harder Sammy, fuck me better, fuck me harder," Azazel ordered.

The loss of the pressure on his cock made Sam whine in frustration and he pumped harder, hoping it might bring him his own relief, a different kind of pain wrapped into the agony every jarring movement gave him. He felt Azazel stiffen as the demon wrapped his arms around him, shoving in deep and spilling his seed. "What a good son you are," Azazel crooned as he shook with each release into Sam. He finally pulled out with a satisfied sigh.

"You're so much better than that waste of flesh, that whore, your brother was." Azazel ran teasing fingers along Sam's hard member. "So much better."

He let Sam's cock go and walked over to the cart of torture implements. Azazel returned with a corkscrew like pin that he twisted into Sam chest as he reached down and stroked Sam again.

Sam's pain of his need to come blended with the pain of the twisting tool and he moaned. He saw Dean react to his pain and he tried to bring the shields back up again.  
  
"He was protected from your pain when he was in his room," Azazel said as he twisted the tool in deeper, stroking Sam a little faster. "I was trying to help him, protect him. You sent him away. He now shares your pain. This was not my doing but your own." He let go of both the pin and Sam's cock and returned to the cart, bringing back a long wicked looking blade. "He used to keep up shields to protect you and the time the knife that cut him actually cut you, too…" Azazel held up the knife. Ancient runes were carved into its bone handle. "It was this knife, my dear son. So best you shore up those shields or I'll be carving him up while I punish you. It was very effective in taking him to the next level of control. I'll be keeping this knife at hand in the future."

Wiping away the drying remnants of Sam's tears, Azazel tsked. "You know I don't approve of tears, Sammy. Cry again and I will use this knife on you and tear down the shields you are trying to hold on. So keep up your shield for your brother and never cry again, or you now know the punishment. I won't rip apart your shield so long as you obey." Azazel began jacking Sam's cock with hard sure strokes. "You have to learned control, Sammy. You can't let anything distract you."

He worked Sam harder until Sam was ready to come. When he did, Azazel dragged the blade down Sam's chest, Sam's blood spurting out even as his seed did, even as a raw throated scream did.

with a small moan of pleasure Azazel licked the come from his hand, then gripped Sam's hair and yanked his head back. He kissed him then moved aside but kept hold of Sam's hair to keep Sam's head up. "See, Sammy, if you had kept up your shields, your brother wouldn't be bleeding now."

Smirking at the ghostly apparition of Dean Azazel said, "By all means Dean, return any time you would like. I'll be happy to fuck him in front of you, make him whine and whimper just as you dream of doing. I'll be happy to deepen his punishment just for your viewing pleasure." His smile turned dark. "I permitted Sam to continue to come while you were growing up. I won't stop you, either, but I will make him pay dearly for seeing you. You are a sack of putrid weakness my _true_ son does not deserve to be contaminated with. Now, go." The demon flicked his wrist in a dismissing gesture and Dean was gone.

* * *

Dean pressed his lips against Sam’s as hard as he could, though he knew no matter how he tried his touch would feel little more than a brush of air against his brother’s mouth. He tried anyway. Wanting Sam to feel him, wanting Sam to remember him, wanting to give his brother a reason to hold on… Dean knew he was a poor excuse for a reason, but he hoped all the same.

When he felt Sam trying to pull up shields between them, like Dean had used to try to protect the younger boy whenever he was tortured, Dean shook his head even as he continued kissing Sam. Cupping Sam’s face and brushing his fingertips tenderly over the younger man.

_Don’t._ He mouthed, shaking his head again, but either Sam didn’t understand what he meant or he did and did not listen to him. Dean didn’t want Sam to try to protect him from this. It didn’t matter. Dean had endured pain like this for years. He didn’t care about feeling it now. But Sam would need all the energy he could spare just to hold on and he couldn’t waste that energy worrying about him.

Dean broke their kiss with only the greatest reluctance. His eyes pleading with Sam, but Dean could feel the walls coming between them. They were weak at best, as strong as his brother may be Sam unused to using his powers in such a way, unused to holding such barriers. Again Dean tried to tell Sam not even to try, it wasn’t worth it…

It didn’t really matter because Dean still felt when Sam was torn open from behind by their demon father. Dean’s expression immediately twisted into one of pure hatred, snarling at the demon who was violating his brother. Knowing it had happened was bad enough, watching it happen was so much worse. Even though Dean knew it was hopeless he tried to draw on his power to do _something_. He couldn’t simply stand by and watch this. Not this. To feel Sam going through this…

But no matter hard he tried it was like flies attacking a dragon. Utterly useless. His powers were drawn from the demon blood flowing through his veins and his body was far away from here. He couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t ease his brother’s pain, he could only watch and weep and scream in silent rage at the demon.

Azazel’s degrading words, calling him a waste as he praised his brother did not wound him in the least. Once they would have wounded him deeper than any knife ever could, but not now. Now he only felt black hate for the demon he had called master. He only felt love for Sam, and he tried to offer the younger man whatever comfort he could. Ignoring the pain he felt coming from Sam, refusing to show it, as he caressed his brother’s face again, shaking his head. Trying to tell Sam he didn’t care about the pain. Even as his eyes widened a little when he saw Azazel go for the knife… god no…

He didn’t scream when he felt the burning pain of the knife he knew so well cutting into Sam’s flesh. He refused to show it even when he felt the warm rush of blood dripping down his chest and he knew his body was wounded in mirror to Sam’s. Just like the first time he was cut with the blade and he saw the ghost boy drop to his knees screaming.

_Sam…_

Somehow Dean wasn’t surprised in the least when Azazel suddenly addressed him. Looking right at him, taunting him, and promising to inflict even more pain on Sam if he returned. There would not be a next time. The next time he saw Sam he would be flesh and blood and he was going to tear the demon apart one way or another.

_I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD!_ Dean roared, not knowing or really caring if the demon heard him or not. It was not a threat. It was a promise.

When he was thrust back into his body, Dean came awake with a jerk and a cry of pain on his lips caused by the bloody wound on his chest but he bit it back. Forcing down all the pain and any weakness he felt as he threw back the blood soaked blankets and stood. His knees giving out on him in weakness and he fell to the floor with a curse. Even as he struggled to get back up, he called for the one man he knew wouldn’t hesitate to help him. The one man who hated Azazel as much as he did. The one man who wanted Sam back as much as Dean.

“DAD!”

* * *

John's dreams were restless nightmarish blurs of being tortured by Dean, of Sam with demon-black eyes, of losing both his boys to a laughing shadow figure. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, the nightmares plaguing him, when he heard his name called. "Sam!" John cried softly as his eyes sprung open.

No, Sam wasn't here. That demon-bastard had him. That meant… "Dean?" John whispered unbelievingly. He threw back the blanket and pushed himself off the couch in one fluid movement, on his feet and rushing to his eldest son's room. He ignored the pain and pull of the bandages across still healing wounds.

Dean was lying on the floor, his chest coated in blood, struggling to rise. His face was a mask of frustration and fury.

"Dean!" John said and went to Dean's side simply knowing that anger was not meant for him. He felt the electricity in the room of Dean's powers and he guessed those deadly powers were barely under leash.

"What the hell happened?" John asked as he helped his son to his feet. He saw the deep cut down his chest and his mind suddenly flashed back to his youngest son, one night crying out in agony. He came in to find Sam's back sliced open and his son sobbing. He had never understood Sam's tear-filled words of 'they're hurting him,' at least, not until now. The connection the two boys had apparently always shared…could even cause them to share physical injuries.

When he started to help Dean back to the bed, he felt Dean's resistance. He steadied Dean, ignoring his own pain as he pulled one of Dean's arms over his shoulder and wrapped his own arm around Dean's waist. He let the young man take the lead and it was obvious Dean was intent on getting out to the kitchen. The first aid kit was out there anyhow.

Bobby and Jim showed up at the doorway to the bedroom, their faces probably looking as amazed as John's was. Dean had called him Dad. He was still processing that, but something inside him just simply unwound at that knowledge. A knot he hadn't really known had been there ever since he had learned Dean was still alive and had been the man who had tortured him.

"Get him some sweats and a flannel shirt," John ordered Bobby. "And get the first aid kit ready. Jim, some milk and maybe some scrambled eggs would be good. He needs food if he's going to get his strength back."

The two men disappeared back down the hall.

The walk down the hall was slow. He could feel Dean trembling from the effort. He let Dean take all the time he needed. As much as he wanted to grill the young man with questions, he kept quiet, letting Dean focus on just getting one foot in front of the other. Before he settled Dean into the chair, he steadied him as Bobby helped the man into the sweat pants. Jim already had the milk sitting out and the steaming scrambled eggs were on a plate, ready.

John wet down a cloth and began cleaning away the blood that still trickled down Dean's chest and had already began to soak into the waistband of the sweat pants. "Okay, kiddo, talk to me."

* * *

The older man was there even faster than Dean had expected given the state of John Winchester’s injuries. Dean knew exactly what state the other man had to be in too, considering that Dean had given every single one to him.

When the hunter ran to his side to help him, asking him what had happened, at first Dean merely shook his head. He couldn’t speak right now. He needed all of his concentration right now to fight down the explosion of power inside of him that was just waiting to happen. Rage boiling black and hot in his gut just begging for any outlet and he couldn’t give it one. He would literally tear the house apart and anything inside of it if he did and he couldn’t let that happen.

He would not harm Sam’s… family…

However when the older man helped him up and tried to get him back into the bed, Dean resisted, shaking his head angrily. He had laid down enough. He didn’t want rest and he didn’t have time for it either. Sam didn’t have time for it. It was a good thing that the other man did not try to force him back into the bed, instead taking him out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. The painful strain and blood loss was making him feel weak and light headed and he was unconsciously putting more and more of his weight on the older man but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going back into that bed, damn it.

When they finally reached the kitchen Dean didn’t resist when he was helped into a chair. He knew he couldn’t stand up right now under his own power, at least not for very long. He also didn’t protest the man helping him remain upright in the chair or when they helped put some clothes on him. He didn’t even flinch when the wet cloth began to clean away the blood on his chest, though his breathing was a little more labored than he would have liked.

He could still feel Sam… he could still feel his brother and knew he was in pain, but it wasn’t as intense as before. Dean looked up and he wasn’t all that surprised to find runes similar to the ones that had been carved inside of his cell around the room. Probably in all of the rooms of the house now.

As much as he hated being cut off from Sam now he knew it was necessary, he needed to recover quickly. He couldn’t do that if he was constantly writhing in pain.

Dean’s eyes shifted back to John… his father… when the older man spoke.

“I went to Sam. The way he used to come to me when we were kids. I saw him. I saw him being tortured by Azazel.” Dean ground out the demon’s name like the most vile curse in the world. His hands clenching into fists and objects around the room rattling slightly as he battled with his powers once more. “Sam’s not gone. Not completely. I know where he is. We need to go to him. He won’t last much longer…”

* * *

John finished wiping off the blood and after cleaning the wound, sealed it with butterfly bandages. The wounds probably could have used stitches, but Dean didn't need any more pain and they would work just as well. The cut wasn't terribly deep, but he knew from experience it had to hurt like a bitch.

John forced himself not to react to Dean's words or the rattling of the items in the room. His baby boy was being tortured and the long gash on his eldest's chest was a minuscule sample of what was being done to him. The scars that coated Dean's body attested to that. He saw one scar on Dean's face, right along his chin, one his boy had gotten taking a spill from his bike into gravel. It had bled like a bitch. It was hardly visible at this point, but it was still there. Another small bit of tangible proof Dean was really his son. Like the birthmark. Like those eyes that were unmistakably Mary's.

"We have to be smart about this," John said slowly. He nudged Dean's plate. "Eat. You need your strength." He accepted a plate of eggs from Jim and smiled gratefully when Jim put a mug of fresh coffee down in front of him.

"We've got a gun that can kill demons on its way to us. Probably be here today, but only a couple bullets. We've got Bobby's demon poison and he's brewed it pretty damned strong I guess, so that will take down some of the demons." He began eating, pulling a few pieces of bacon off of a plate Jim put down, dropping a couple pieces onto his son's plate and then taking a couple for himself. He did likewise with the toast.

"Jim and Bobby left a couple rooms without the runes, in case you need to check on Sam without the interference of the magic. Where Sam's at, can we get to it? I know he's not in Hell, but how do we reach this," he waved his fork, "other place. How many demons are we dealing with? Me and Bobby, we've got no real defense against being thrown across a room. Jim's got limited retaliatory abilities. We've got exorcisms and holy water and salt, but Dean, going up against a lot of demons, and one of Azazel's caliber, I don't know that we've got enough fire power." John glanced at his two friends. "We do have a spell to summon an angel. Do you think the four of us can get Sam out or do we try calling in the big guns? The angel may not help, but we can ask."

* * *

Dean scowled a little at the older man’s words, not liking them one bit. What part about Sam didn’t have much time left did he not understand? But maybe he was angry because as much as he didn’t like John Winchester’s insistence that they needed to wait, needed to play this “smart”, and that he was going to have to “waste” time eating to help regain his strength, the other man was right.

So the younger man reluctantly turned to his plate and picked up his fork. Shoveling in the eggs and whatever other food he was given mechanically. Not really tasting anything through the bitter taste of fear and pain for Sam in his mouth.

Dean looked up when the older man mentioned a gun that could kill demons. It would be useful. It had him longing for his knives however, and unfortunately they were probably back in Bobby’s panic room buried beneath a pile of rubble.

He nodded a little when Bobby’s demon poison was mentioned, it would certainly be useful, he could attest to the effectiveness on demon blood himself. It might not actually kill a full blooded demon but it would certainly incapacitate them. Unfortunately though it might surprise the first few demons, it wouldn’t be very effective when the other demons saw what it could do and any injection method would simply be repelled.

“I can take you to where Sam is.” Dean confirmed. Getting there wasn’t a problem. Azazel probably wouldn’t even set up any means to keep them out. He knew how the demon’s mind worked. He would _want_ them to come. To either force Sam to kill them himself, or at the very least, kill them all in front of the younger man. Leaving absolutely nothing left for Sam to fight for…

“I don’t know exactly how many demons are there. Azazel does not really care for the company of other demons. He’ll keep plenty of low level demons around for cannon fodder, but very few high level demons. The exact number I don’t know. There could be thirty or there could be a hundred.”

Dean knew he could handle many of the demons, especially the low level one’s, he could even control some of the hellhounds to help them if he had the chance to. But he would have to focus most of his energy on Sam and Azazel, and not concern himself with the cannon fodder.

When his father mentioned the spell to summon an _angel_ Dean made a disgusted face.

“Angels don’t care about the troubles of man. All they care about is the will of heaven. If one was going to help, they would have done so already.” Dean ground out bitterly, but then he considered for a moment. “There might be a way to convince it though. The only thing that angels despise more than demons are fallen angels. If Azazel’s blood was used to summon one, then it might just work.”

* * *

Rumsfeld had had quite enough. He had been a good dog and stayed out of the new pack member's path. He had sat back and watched as the others tended him in the way human packmates did. Once the newest pack member was settled though he trotted forward and promptly placed his head in the man's lap. Though he sensed the anger and power, it didn't faze him. It was little different than when his pack leader was doing such things dealing with smelly things that he wouldn't even let Rumsfeld roll in. It wasn't really fair. But now he smelled bacon. He knew the word. Bacon. He loved bacon. He whined and put his paw on his new playmate's leg. Hopefully he would share…

All three hunters were pleased to hear Dean could get them to Sam. All three hunters were a little taken aback at the thought of going up against a hundred demons, low level or not. They could spray the demons with the oil and poison to cripple their powers, then plug them full of darts loaded with the poison, but that would only be good against the first or second wave and they knew it. There was no way to know if Sam could or would help and that pretty much meant Dean had to be concerned with tackling Azazel. If he hadn't even been able to handle Sam, what chance did he really have against the demon? Still, if he could keep the demon occupied, maybe that demon killing gun could be used to nail the bastard.

Dean's thoughtful look regarding the angel gave all the men some degree of hope. Azazel's blood…Dean's blood? And if angels hated fallen angels so much, then what was the likelihood it would simply strike Dean down immediately? John would not sacrifice one son for the other.

"By Azazel's blood," Bobby said, "you mean yours?"

* * *

Dean looked down at the dog’s head in his lap. It had surprised him a little bit. The dog’s attention still baffled him a bit. The animal seemed to look up at him expectantly when it whined, and at first Dean wasn’t sure what it wanted.

Almost hesitantly he let one of his hands stroke the top of its head as he had seen Bobby do, but somehow that didn’t seem to be… Then he noticed the animal eyeing his plate and Dean didn’t hesitate taking a few pieces of the bacon from his plate and holding them out to the dog.

It felt a little odd, for him to be the one giving another food from his plate. Considering he was the one usually waiting to be handed scraps. But when the dog immediately gobbled up the bacon and its tail started thumping happily on the floor, despite the situation, Dean couldn’t help the faint smile that curved his lips.

Bobby asking him if his blood would be sufficient to convince the angel to go after Azazel made Dean look up again. He considered for a moment then nodded.

“It should be enough. I have a lot of the demon’s blood inside of me. A pure sample of Azazel’s blood would be best, by mine should be sufficient.”

* * *

Bobby gave a soft snort. "Yeah, somehow I don't think Azazel would be too keen on us calling him up and asking for a bit of his blood." He started to scold Rumsfeld for begging at the table then thought better of it. Dean would only eat food given to him. Rumsfeld wasn't so different, and he did not want the young man to think it was improper for him to be eating at the table with the rest of them. So instead of scolding Rumsfeld, he dropped a few more pieces of bacon onto Dean's plate.

"How many more spell components do we need?" Jim asked.

Bobby sighed. "More than I'd like. We need blood from a newborn. It don't specify human though I don't doubt that would be more effective. I was contemplating trying to get blood from a newborn's umbilical but that's gonna be tough. I think blood from a newborn calf will be best. Three teeth from children…"

"A dentist attends my church. He might be able to help. If not, there is always the graveyard."

"It calls for half a dozen different types of bones from folk so the graveyard's gonna be a must anyhow. I already put in a call to couple contacts for some of the more exotic things. They're already being overnighted. I figure within forty-eight hours we oughtta have everything we need. If we're up against a clock here for Sammy, they I dunno, I'll try to get things pushed up. That spell takes half a day to cast, so maybe we can get started on it without having everything.

"I know you don't want to hear it Dean, but you're pretty weak right now. Don't sees how you can be ready much before a couple days anyhow, and same for you John. Hell, you both need another week or so to even be close to getting yer game back, but if Sammy's on the edge, we just gotta push it."

John looked at his son. Dean looked too pale and it looked like it was an effort for him to even be sitting at the table, eating. "If your blood is enough to catch the angel's attention, does that mean he'll consider you demonic enough to strike down? I'm not sacrificing one son for the other."

* * *

  


While he ate Dean listened intently as the hunters discussed what they would need to perform the spell. He did not like one bit how they described the difficulty in procuring some of the items for it. If an angel would “help” them in this then their chances would be significantly increased, the young man did not deny that. But if doing this spell meant that they had to wait to go to Sam… he was almost ready to insist that they not wait to do the spell and go now.

Two days? Just to get everything and then another half a day to perform the spell? Did they have any idea how _long_ two days would be for Sam? His brother had already been in the demon’s hands for three weeks and Sam was barely hanging on by a thread!

Dean glared a little at Bobby when the older man helpfully “reminded” him how weak he was. The worst of it was, he knew the older man was right. He was in no shape to face even a few low level demons much less Azazel himself… and maybe even Sam… He had to rest, he had to recover, and he had to do it quickly.

Sam… if he couldn’t go to Sam now he wished he could at least go to his brother in insubstantial form, if only to help Sam hold on… but Azazel had already “warned” him if he went to Sam then his brother would pay dearly for it. The thought of how Sam was paying for it now, how he had watched Sam pay for it, brought tears to his eyes once more but Dean stubbornly held them back.

His father’s question of whether or not the angel might “smite” Dean simply because he had Azazel’s blood in him didn’t really surprise him, but at the same time it did. Maybe it was more the older man’s declaration that he wouldn’t sacrifice Dean for Sam. Frankly, Dean didn’t care. If his death was what it took to save Sam then it was a price he would pay without hesitation.

“I don’t know much about angels. Azazel taught me many things, but those topics certainly weren’t his top priorities.” Dean told the hunters. “But, it will know my blood is human as well. Angels are forbidden from harming humans unless absolutely necessary or ordered by heaven.”

The lie fell surprisingly easy from his lips. He might have _some_ human blood in his veins but most of it was demonic. Azazel had seen to that. 

* * *

Jim all but bit his tongue at Dean's proclamation an angel wouldn't hurt a human. He supposed in a round about way it wasn't exactly a lie. They would attempt to smite any demon in their presence. If the angel judged the demon blood contaminated Jim and Dean, the angel might well 'follow the will of Heaven' and smite them. Being that they were human, it was possible the angel might purify them of their demon blood, in which case both Dean and he would be useless in the fight if demonic skills were needed. Certainly not dismissing Bobby and John's aid, but both he and Dean had an edge with their demon blood. He gave Dean a glare, telling the man he was calling 'bullshit' on his words, but he decided to let John believe the lie. If the spell summoned an arch-angel, both he and Dean were dead. Plain and simple. A lesser angel…hard telling. If he could convince Dean to pray with him, to beg for redemption, to beg for aid in rescuing Sam, they might well have less of a chance of being killed by the angel.

One advantage of summoning the angel with the spell was that the angel would potentially be contained, in the angelic equivalent of a devil's trap. They could have a chance to speak with the angel before it began avenging the fact it had been summoned by demon magic. He wondered briefly if summoning the angel might be taking it away from some important work such as watching over someone. While the hunter in him wondered if angels even bothered to watch over humans any more, the priest in him clung to his faith in the Lord. He would like to believe that the pain and suffering he had endured while a prisoner of the demon served more than just turning him to embrace God. The books that had come into his possession…already one spell had rescued Dean's soul from Azazel, assuming Bobby was correct that Sam now owned Dean's soul. Maybe this had all been part of God's plan. He tried not to question, but he was human and it was human nature to question.

"Bobby, put together the list of what we need in the way of bones and I'll get started on the research of what graves we need to dig up to get what we need. I don't suppose you know of anything that could help strengthen or help invigorate those of us with demon blood in our veins?"

Bobby gave a firm shake of his head. "Spent all my years trying to tear them down, not build them up. A pure demon? Yeah, I probably could. The things I know would kill the human part of you. Nothing I got would …well, maybe…I might be able to devise some hex bags that would give your demonic powers a bit more punch. That would be easy enough to test and shouldn't risk harming either of you so long as you didn't try anything big, just in case it turned around and bit you instead. I can try," Bobby said with a nod.

"My talents are pretty much limited to demonic spells, but even punching them up a bit could help," Jim said with a nod.

"Dean, while we might use your blood, I think it best if I do the summoning," Jim continued. Being a priest I'm less likely…it might be more willing to listen to me. I'll bring the spell and if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to go through it, make sure that I've translated everything properly. Aside from that, both you and John need as much rest and food as you can possible get. We don't have much time for the two of you to heal up. It's a shame neither of us can heal like Sam."

* * *

Dean met the pastor’s stare evenly, though his eyebrows narrowed just a fraction of an amount, almost daring the older man to call him out on his “lie”. He wasn’t all that surprised when he didn’t. The other man knew all too well that this was the best option at the moment to get Sam back, and that was all that mattered. They couldn’t let John Winchester’s foolish idealism get in the way of that, and it wasn’t the older man’s choice to make besides. It was likely he would die anyway, whether he was killed by an angel, Azazel or Sam himself… as long as it freed his brother he didn’t care. Though in truth, the most likely outcome of this would be they all would die. But if that was the only option Dean hoped he would at least be able to give Sam peace before he drew his last breath.

John wasn’t blind and he definitely wasn’t an idiot. He noticed the silent play between Dean and Jim and instead of reassuring him he only grew more fearful for his son. It made him want to call an end to all this talk about summoning an angel and come up with another plan but anything else might take even more time, would be less effective, and Sam…

God damn it…

He would just have to trust. How could he ask his son to trust him if he wouldn’t trust Dean? But even without all the things Bobby and Jim had told him about Dean it was obvious that the young man would do anything for Sam. Would lay his life down to save his brother in a heartbeat and… John simply didn’t know if he could survive the loss of his son again… either of his sons. He had just gotten Dean back, only to lose Sam. He couldn’t lose Dean again. He couldn’t lose Sam. John prayed to god and his beautiful wife to give him the strength to save his boys.

The young man went back to eating his food but he looked up and nodded slightly when Jim suggested that he not be present when they performed the spell. Like the angel wouldn’t know he was in the damned house. It almost made him want to roll his eyes, but he didn’t. He wanted to be there, just to make sure they didn’t fuck up the spell, but if he wasn’t there was maybe a slightly less chance the angel would kill him instantly just because of his demon blood. He nodded again when the priest suggested he translate the spell, again, just to make sure they wouldn’t fuck it up.

Dean didn’t answer the other man’s comment about Sam’s healing, turning his attention back to his plate. Trying not to think about how Sam’s ability to heal was only making him able to endure torture for longer and far more frequently…


	13. Chapter 13

Jim sat across from Bobby and John. He glanced at Dean beside him then turned back to the other two hunters. He felt ill at the news he had to give the men. At this point, he didn't even want to consider the summoning of an angel as an option, but it was that, or the four of them try to go in and surely lose, or leave Sam to his fate. None of the options were good.  


  
"Bobby and I translated the spell wrong. It does summon an angel," he said, and before either of the men could speak he continued, "but the vessel the spell components have to be put into…is a person, not a bowl. Neither Dean nor I can act as the vessel. It's up to one of you."

Bobby's eyes widened. "Jim, those spell components, they'll kill a man if he takes 'em in. What about a dead body? We could snag one from the morgue or something."

"It requires a living vessel, Bobby," Jim said quietly.

"What do I have to do?" John asked without hesitation. There was no question in his mind who should be the one to do it.

"John who ever does this, they—there's no telling if they'll survive," Jim said though there wasn't so much argument as resignation in his voice. He just wanted to be sure John understood.

"I don't give a damned, not if this will save Sam. We've already wasted two days getting ready for this. Dean," and John nodded to his eldest, "already told us Sam won't last long. We can't sit down and come with another plan. Besides, what else can we do? Rally a handful of hunters and hope there are only a few dozen demons to go up against? Hope we can get close enough to Azazel to use the gun? C'mon Jim. This is the only real choice and the only real chance Sam has and you know it. The longer we sit here talking, the longer Sam's in that's demonic bastard's hands. So, what do I have to do?" John said.

Giving a reluctant nod, Jim pushed himself to his feet. "We've got everything set up in the basement already. I start the spell, mixing the elixir as I go. At the end, I hand it over to you, you drink it, and I finalize the summoning."

Bobby looked at Dean. "You've double checked everything? We got everything right, all the right components, the right incantations? You're certain we're set?"

* * *

The last two days had been… tense… to say the least.

He stood in the corner a little ways away from the kitchen table where the three men sat. His arms folded across his chest, the posture putting a little bit of stress on the healing wound underneath his t-shirt but he didn’t really care. The physical pain helped him block out a little the echo’s he could sometimes feel coming from Sam even in the rooms where the runes had been placed.

Even with the runes, Dean was often afraid to sleep. Afraid he would go to Sam and that Azazel would make good on his promise. Dean was torn between wanting to be there to try to give Sam some comfort, give him a reason to hold on, and fear of making it even worse for his brother. Not that Azazel would hold back just because Dean didn’t appear to Sam but the demon could always make it worse.

It was killing him. This waiting… He was growing impatient with these hunters and their caution. He had done what they’d asked, gone over the spell carefully and pointing out the mistakes they’d made either translating the incantation or the materials they would need for the spell. Really, the men had done a fairly good job since the demon tongue wasn’t exactly something many were well versed in, but the mistakes and extra materials caused even more delays.

It didn’t help that they were constantly pushing him to “rest”. He knew he needed to rest, needed to recover all the strength he could for the fight to come, but at the same time he couldn’t just sit still, doing nothing. Sometimes it felt like if he didn’t keep moving, doing something, then the dark power inside of him would start vibrating till he was afraid it might rip him apart seeking an outlet.

He knew they didn’t understand. Not entirely. Even though they were Sam’s friends, family, they simply didn’t understand. Well, Sam’s father… his father… seemed to understand a little. The man didn’t constantly tell him to go sit or lay down if he became a little shaky or unsteady on his feet. The times when Sam’s pain came through particularly strong and Dean’s powers reacted by making every object in the room vibrate or rattle their eyes would meet and he knew the older man was feeling the same rage and despair.

Dean was just about at the end of his patience, and he hadn’t had much to begin with. Dean was getting very ready to just abandon the hunters to their planning and leave to try to rescue Sam himself, but he didn’t. He knew he wouldn’t. He couldn’t fail again. For Sam’s sake, because he knew he needed the help of these men if he wanted to rescue his brother, it was the only reason he stayed.

He had just finished translating the rest of the spell this morning. Jim had not been kidding when he said it would take at least a half a day to prepare, and there had been a great deal of information to decipher from the ancient book. The vessel… they’d just learned today it was the final ingredient of the spell. A human host for the angel to inhabit. They could not complete the spell without one because not only would the angel be too powerful to contain, but its true form would burn out the eyes and make the hearts explode of any human that saw or heard it.

Dean would have gladly volunteered to become the host for the angel, but he knew that it would certainly not tolerate its vessel being infected with demon blood and he would be torn apart from the inside out in seconds. Somehow Dean wasn’t surprised when Jim told the other two men about this little “snag” in their plan that John Winchester immediately volunteered.

When their eyes met, Dean gave the older man a slight nod. He understood. He hoped Sam would too…

When Bobby spoke up, asking him if he was sure everything was right, Dean frowned a little but he turned to the other man and nodded again.

“I’ve translated everything exactly. Everything is ready. It only needs to be performed.” They already knew that he would have rather recited the incantation than Jim since Dean knew the demon language far better, but they did not want him in the room when the angel was summoned. Once Dean offered up his arm for the blood they would need, he was expected to leave and wait.

Dean was so damned tired of waiting…

* * *

Jim was nearly exhausted, even with the hex bag Bobby had devised for him and Dean to enhance their powers. He supposed if he had more demon in him, the spell wouldn't be sapping him like it seemed to be. Dean would have probably been able to handle it much better, but he still was recovering and they needed him at his best. Jim, well, if he didn't have the strength left to join them, it would be far less crippling to the attack on the demons than if Dean was sapped of strength. At least the spell was almost complete. He ground the last of the components with the mortar and pestle and continued the incantations as he mixed the components into what had now become a black writhing liquid. He didn't let his voice waver as he handed over the crystal goblet to John, nor did he let his expression change. He knew he was potentially handing over liquid death to one of his best friends. It simply had to be done.

John had sat motionless for the past six hours, his eyes closed, his mind drifting through memories of his life. Both Dean and Jim had made it perfectly clear he was not to invoke God or pray while he sat inside the angel's trap. He used the time to walk through the good memories of his life. His memories of his parents, of Mary, of his boys, of all the lives he had saved. He had taken twenty minutes to prepare himself for this, using most of that time to write Sam a letter. If he didn't survive this and they managed to save Sam, it would be the last words from him Sam might ever get. He wasn't the touchy feely type of man, but he put all the things in his heart into that letter. Told Sam how proud he was of him, how much he loved him, how much he prayed for Sam to have a long and happy life. If Sam wanted to try to finish school, he would be just as proud as if he decided to become a hunter. He told him to look after Dean and make sure Dean had as happy a life as was possible. And he told him how sorry he was for the childhood Sam had lost and sorry for all their fights.

Really it was a fairly short letter. John Winchester was not a man of many words, but after he re-read it, he decided it was enough. It told Sam the most important things. That he would always love him. That he would die to save him and that he had no regrets in this decision what-so-ever. He took the time to write a short letter to Dean as well with the theme much the same. He wasn't sure Dean really believed it now but maybe someday Dean would truly accept that his father loved him, even through everything Dean had done.

John took the goblet and when Jim gave a single sharp nod, ancient words still spilling from his lips, John upended the contents and swallowed. The liquid was so foul John almost didn't get it all down and even when he had, he wasn't entirely sure it was going to stay down. The liquid seemed to coil in him and then dark tentacles shot outward. His body stiffened. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even breathe. He was frozen. The black tentacles wove through his soul and it felt as if his life force was torn from each of his limbs. If he could have, he would have scream from the excruciating pain. His total essence was curled into a tight ball and securely bound in his mind, all but emptying the vessel to make room for the angel.

The light was blinding, the sound inhuman and painful to human ears as the angel and its grace was pulled into the vessel of John Winchester. Briathos opened its now human eyes. The stench of demon filled his nostrils and the ancient tongue still rang in the room. Looking down, he recognized the ancient magic that trapped him in the circle. Demon magic had summoned him, had forced him into this injured meatsuit of a man. Before him a priest…a priest tainted by demon knelt, his hands shaking from the effort of the ancient spell. The taint to the blood was not the blood that had been used to draw him and trap him. Azazel was that which he tasted on the tongue of his forced vessel and it was not Azazel that had contaminated this man.

He did not sense evil in the priest, but rather desperation, a desperation felt to a far greater degree by the vessel he inhabited. Admittedly, at this point he was intrigued.  
  
He pushed himself to his feet and attempted to spread his wings, but the boundary of the circle would not permit him to fully unfurl them. The magic was too strong for him to break. Indeed likely only an arch angel would have had the strength to break the spell in which he was caught. He settled his wings, refolding them back down and tilted his head at the priest. There were two others nearby. One was fully human. The other…nearly demon, yet too he could sense desperation emanating from them both. The near demon had him most interested. The almost demon, his soul had been chained by another. The desperation that filled him was from…love. Demons could love, but the depth of this love was tremendous. It was…pure. And that, that was most certainly _not_ demonic in nature.

"Speak, priest. You have summoned an angel of the Lord using ancient dark magic. While you have done evil things, you have been forgiven by the Lord for these trespasses. Why then risk your soul now? Surely you realize such magic as this jeopardizes your soul. Though I am contained in this circle of evil, obviously you have need of some boon. Why should I not smite you upon my release?" Briathos saw no sense in using any angelic enhancement to his voice or presence. The priest already knew him for what he was.

"We need your help," Jim said bowing his head as if in prayer. "The man whose body you inhabit, his wife was killed by Azazel. His eldest son Dean was stolen when he was but four years old and reared by Azazel. The younger son Samuel was not taken but was given demon blood as well. Azazel has now taken Samuel and is training him to lead his army of demons. The young man is struggling to hang on to his humanity. His older brother Dean can take us to him, but we are no match for Azazel and we fear Samuel may already have succumbed. His love for his brother and family is strong and we hope to rescue him and if he has embraced his demon heritage, we believe we may be able to bring him back to God's light. We regret the use of the dark ways to bring you to us, but we are desperate and knew of no other way to quickly gain the aid we need. I realize this may have cost me a place in Heaven. We all do. But if we can save Samuel's soul and destroy Azazel in the process, we are all willing to pay such a price if that is the will of God."

The angel was silent for a full minute. Finally he spoke. "Release me."

Jim broke the circle that entrapped the angel without hesitation.

"Bring this 'Dean' before me," Briathos demanded as he stepped out of the circle of evil now rendered useless.

* * *

Dean had been pacing back and forth in the kitchen for hours. He was tired, he knew he should rest, but he couldn’t. He was all but wearing a grove into the floor as he and Bobby waited for some kind of sign that the spell was complete. Waited for some kind of sign whether it had succeeded or if it had failed, both outcomes having possible deadly consequences.

If the spell failed, if the slightest mistake was made, if the angel did not enter the vessel, then not only would they have little chance of successfully rescuing his brother but their father would surely die as well. If the spell succeeded, if the angel did appear, rather than help them the angel could decide to kill them all… well, at least those of them with demon blood in them. That was still possible even if the angel _did_ decide to help. But if it was his life that was the price to pay for saving Sam then Dean would gladly pay it.

He could feel the dark energies swirling in the basement below. Maybe too powerful for the priest with barely any demon blood in him to control… Dean wanted to go downstairs but he knew his presence would only ensure the spell would fail. The incantation could not be broken, for any reason.

Rumsfeld whined beside him, the animal had been practically keeping in step with all of his restless pacing, but he could tell that the energies coming from downstairs were bothering the dog now. Dean moved to the kitchen door and opened it, the dog immediately rushed out gratefully, but Dean didn’t follow. He couldn’t leave the house without being overwhelmed by what Sam was experiencing…

Dean was about to resume his pacing when he froze, practically in mid step when he felt it… a shiver running up his spine despite all his bravado. The angel was here…

The young man’s heart was hammering in his chest like a jackhammer. Dean knew he should probably find Bobby and tell him… the man had said he was going to check on their weapons one last time, maybe start loading them into the cars, but he couldn’t move. It wasn’t fear that gripped him. Not entirely at least. It was hope… and he was afraid to even breathe and possibly shatter it.

Every second seemed to crawl by like an eternity before the basement door finally opened and Jim stepped out. The priest looking pale, weak, and shaken but otherwise unharmed. When the other figure emerged, Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Of course it looked like his father physically, but Dean knew it wasn’t. He could have felt the power radiating from the vessel even if he was only human. But he wasn’t, and his demon blood, his powers, hell, his very soul seemed to recoil in fear from its presence alone. The angel’s eyes seemed to pierce him to his core when they turned on him. 

* * *

“Yes, sir,” Jim said. “He’s upstairs. I’ll bring him down.”

“I would just as soon be away from this place,” Briathos said, looking around at the components of the dark spell still scattered about. “I will follow.”

“May I ask your name?” Jim asked tentatively.

“Briathos,” the angel told him as he followed Jim up the stairs. “And you, priest?”

“Jim Murphy. John Winchester is your…vessel. Upstairs is Bobby Singer and Dean Winchester.”

The angel stretched his wings once before refolding them, then followed the man up the stairs. As he grew closer to the top of the stairs he could feel the protective runes and him. The almost demon.

When he entered the room his gaze immediately went to the young man. His soul was dark and twisted though Briathos could see the man was not quite beyond redemption. There was light left in him, though it was deeply buried and nearly forgotten. His concepts of right and wrong…he didn’t have any. His will was his master’s will. The sickening stench of the fallen Azazel was thick on the boy and yet the stench was diluted by a different essence. The essence still had Azazel as a source, but it was human, it was…love. The one who owned him, whom he called master loved him as deeply as he loved his master. Lower demons ‘loving’ their masters, serving them out of love/fear was typical. This was stunningly different. As he had recognized when he was below, it was pure, almost…holy. And it was for his brother. Incestuous love. Typically unapproved of but there were rare exceptions. He felt the shock of the spirit of the vessel he inhabited. The father had not known his sons had become lovers.  
  
Briathos did not understand why Heaven would have permitted a human child to be stolen and reared by Azazel but if the younger brother was meant to lead the demon armies, perhaps it was to create an ally. An odd ally to be sure, but it was not Briathos’ concern. An opportunity to reach one of the leaders of the angelic rebellion from those eons ago was before him. This was an opportunity to smite one of the greatest enemies of Heaven and corruptor of men. They had tried before to eliminate Azazel. Great battles had been fought but Azazel had stayed in the shadows, out of reach. Perhaps with just these men, Azazel would let his guard down. Briathos could bury himself deeply and stay hidden until they reached Azazel. Even if Azazel sensed him, the fallen one may not consider Briathos, a lone angel, a significant threat. He returned his focus to the almost demon.

"Will you give yourself over to God, fight in His name, and follow the orders of myself, an angel of the Lord, no matter what those orders might be, to save your brother Samuel?"  


* * *

“Uncomfortable” didn’t even begin to cover how Dean felt under the angel’s regard. However when the thing wearing his father’s face finally did speak, whatever cold fear that had held Dean frozen in place was instantly melted away by wrath. Dean’s eyes narrowed and he lifted his chin in defiance. His hands curled into fists at his side and despite his best intentions to keep a leash on his powers, cups and dishes in cupboards began to rattle dangerously in response to his heightened emotions.

The sheer arrogance of this holier than thou feathered freak was staggering. Demanding that he give himself to _God_. To fight for _God_. To obey “god” and this _angel_ , without question.

To obey a god that had allowed his mother to be murdered by Azazel, that had allowed him to be stolen away from his family, away from Sam, to allow him to be tortured and molded into the perfect weapon for his demon master, and finally when he had found Sam, had pledged his allegiance to his brother forsaking Azazel, had allowed Sam to be taken away from him…

“No.” Dean practically snarled. His eyes meeting that of the angel’s unflinchingly. “Sam is my master! No other! Ever! I will not serve your ‘god’ and I will not serve _you_!”

He would go to Sam himself, he would face every one of Azazel’s demons and Azazel himself before he swore any kind of allegiance to this thing. 

* * *

Jim was aghast at Dean's reaction and started to move forward, to go to him, to try to talk some sense into the boy. Before he had barely begun to move, the angel stepped forward and put a hand on Jim's arm, stopping him.

"This is not unexpected," the angel said softly to Jim.

The angel turned cool eyes back on the furious young man. "I understand, Dean," the angel said quietly, unperturbed by the reaction or show of power, as unintentional as it might be. "You obviously agreed to my summoning, as it is your blood that was used, as you stand here, knowing full well that I might consider you demonic enough to smite.

"I am willing to aid the four of you in your attempt to save Samuel. As loathe as you are to take my orders, I am equally loathe to take yours. Yet there must be a leader. I was summoned to fight Azazel, was I not? So then tell me, who shall lead and what is the plan? While I understand the way of demons, do you understand the way of angels enough to know what commands I would find untenable, regardless of the price? You profess that you serve your master, that you will serve none but him. And what if he has gone too far and fights with Azazel now? Will you join his side? Or are you truly intent on trying to save him? Is it his life or his soul you wish to save? I can offer redemption to him, if he has not gone too far, or if his love for you and your love for him is strong enough to bring him back from the engulfing dark. Can you offer him such salvation? As I understand it, time is short, so we haven't time for posturing. Choices must be made and made quickly."

 

* * *

Dean’s hard glare did not abate even as the angel tried to “reason” with him, trying to persuade him to follow the angel’s orders. Yes, Dean knew much of the ways of demons and he was sure that this angel knew just as much, maybe more, though that was a topic of debate for another time. But that certainly did not mean that he knew nothing of the ways of angels. Azazel might not have taught him much on the subject, but he knew enough. He knew that they could be just as crafty and underhanded as demons, only they hid behind a mask of righteousness where at least demons were honest in their manipulation and cruelty.

The angel knew damned well that when he said he would serve Sam only that he did not mean he would join his brother’s side if Sam refused to leave Azazel’s. Dean wasn’t an imbecile. He would not stand beside Sam if that was the case because he knew that was not really _Sam_. It would be his brother in body but not in soul. He knew what his Sam, his master, his brother, would want him to do. That was the will he would obey.

Redemption… Dean almost spat at the word. The angel could take his redemption he could offer and shove it up his ass. Dean knew he would never be redeemed, his soul was bound for hell sooner or later and he had accepted that long ago. But he wouldn’t let this _thing_ have complete control Sam’s fate. Sam could have his whole life for redemption if that’s what his brother chose. He would not let this angel simply burn out his brother’s soul in a bright flash of light and call it redemption or salvation.

_He_ was going to save his brother.

The only thing he was willing to concede to the angel was that Sam’s time was short and he wasn’t going to spend hours, days, or weeks arguing with the angel on who got to “lead” them.

“Bobby will lead us. You can follow his orders, not mine. You can agree to fight Azazel, the demons he has with him, or not. I know we can’t force you to ‘obey’ any of us. But you know that you cannot find Azazel without me and if you didn’t want him dead as much as we do then you would already be gone. Sam is mine to deal with. You won’t touch him one way or another. If you don’t agree to that, then leave my father now and be gone.” 

* * *

The angel was mildly amused by the brazen response. He had really expected the man to point out that he knew the terrain and the enemy and he would be the best choice to lead. Briathos would have probably been willing to accept it…up to a point. He had watched the emotions flash across the man's face, his scorn and determination and fury more than obvious as Briathos spoke.

"Very well," Briathos agreed. "But I would offer one exception to your plan. If it comes down to requiring the death of Samuel, permit me to strike the final blow. If he can be redeemed, I may be able to extract that at the end and save him from an eternity of Hell. I can make no promises but would willing to make the attempt. I can do nothing once the reaper has collected his soul. His fate will be sealed. He is your master and your brother. I leave the choice up to you, but the offer is there. However, if I am in battle with Azazel, I will not abandon that fight. Let me meet this Bobby before I fully agree to this arrangement."

He had not much more than made the request than an older man came around the corner. Surprise lit his face momentarily.

Bobby could feel the power, a power different and counter to that which he was becoming accustomed to and identifiable as Dean's. He stared at his old friend, but one look in John Winchester's eyes and he knew the summoning had worked. He was relieved that John wasn't dead.

"Bobby," Jim said, "this is Briathos. He has agreed to help and you have been elected to lead as you are the neutral party."

With a snort, Bobby shook his head. "I don't know that I'm 'xactly neutral, but," he looked between the angel, and John Winchester's eldest, "all right. Come on to the back room where the weapons are. If I'm leadin' then I wanna walk through this plan and its contingencies. We all gotta know what our jobs are. Dean, I know you're anxious to get to Sammy, but if we're gonna win this fight, we gotta make sure we're all on the same page, especially seeing as we got a new player."

The four men gathered around the table. Once Briathos understood their strategy he added to it. "I will go deep inside this vessel. This will perhaps minimize Azazel's awareness of my presence. When no more progress can be made without me showing myself, I will emerge. If we are very lucky, we may be able to make fair progress inside before this occurs. I suggest we waste no more time if you are agreeable, Bobby?" Briathos said. At Bobby's nod, Briathos retreated inside John Winchester's mind and broke the chains of the dark spell that had imprisoned the man's soul.

John Winchester opened his eyes and with grim determination on his face, he said, "Let's go rescue Sammy."  


* * *

  


Dean’s stomach clenched a little when the angel offered to strike the final blow to Sam if it came to that. As much as his mind and heart rebelled at the idea of anyone taking his brother’s life, Dean had always known it might very well come to that. That he might be forced to end Sam’s life. Dean had been prepared to do it himself, twice, to try to save Sam from being turned, to try to save his brother’s soul. But he could not deny now that it might be too late for that and death by his hand… if Dean could even manage it… would only condemn Sam to an eternity of hell worse than anything his brother had experienced these last weeks.

As much as he hated it, Dean gave the barest of nods to the “offer”. Ignoring the tight sickening feeling in his gut. Dean would still be the one to face Sam, regardless. He would try to save his brother, and only if _he_ deemed that the younger man couldn’t be saved would he allow the angel to end Sam’s life.

He knew well that in doing so, if Sam’s soul could be redeemed by the angel, he would never see Sam again… ever… That hell would be worse than the eternity he would spend in actual hell after he died, soon after Sam he was sure, but it was a price Dean was willing to pay. As long as his brother was free from Azazel, as long as Sam could be at peace…

Dean half turned when Bobby came into the room and he was supremely glad when the older man agreed to be their “leader”. He trusted the hunter a hell of a lot more than he trusted that angel. While it was true that Dean was tired of wasting time going to Sam, again, he knew that Bobby was right. Also he was the one to suggest that Bobby lead them, so he had to follow through with the deal.

Dean listened and offered his opinion to the plan as it was laid out. In the beginning he would have the hardest task of breaking through the lines of demons that might be guarding Sam or Azazel _and_ protecting the other humans from any attacks made against them. He was expected to be the “big guns” after all. He agreed that the angel should try to remain hidden until the last moment, or else Azazel might simply leave and take Sam with him and they might never find him again. It was going to be difficult and would weaken him. If he could gain control of some of the lesser demons such as hell hounds then it might be a little easier. But if it weakened him too much, he would have even less of a chance against Sam if he had to fight his brother, and his chances already weren’t good.

Still, it was the best possible plan, and Dean gave a sharp nod that yes he was very much done wasting time. Though Dean was a little surprised at the… relief… he felt when the angel retreated and it was John Winchester again in control of his body, that the man was alive in more than just his body. Dean gave his father another sharp nod.

“We need to get to a crossroads.” 

* * *

"There's one a little over an hour from here," Jim said.

John looked over at Bobby. "You got 'em done?"

"Well a'course," Bobby said and pulled out a box. Upon opening it, he pulled out eight hex bags, four of which were identical to the black, silver inscribed one that had bound Dean's powers those weeks ago. The other four were soft deer hide, beadwork and small bits of feathers sewn on. He handed one to each of the men. "These," he said as he slipped the deer hide over his head, "oughtta hide us from anything short of God himself. It might, and I stress might, make any demonic attack weaker. No promises. Dean, it shouldn't interfere with your abilities or that other hex bag you got that already ramps up your powers. I suggest you give it a small test 'fores we go in though, just to make certain it don't."

"The other bags," John said, holding up the black one he held, "one's for Sammy, if he's with the demon now and one's for Azazel. Anyone gets the chance, use it." His gaze swung to Dean. "It took time, but Sam brought you back to us, Son." John recalled the angel's words. His sons were lovers. He still barely knew how to process that but now wasn't the time to try to wrap his brain around that…wrong…truth. "If Sam fights against us, try your damnedest to get this on him. If you do, don't you give a fuck about the rest of us. You get it on Sammy and get him out of there. He brought you back, you can bring him back. He never lost faith in you being our Dean, in you being able to defy Azazel. I expect you to do the same for him. You look out for your little brother. If you haven't got any choice, if you have to kill him," John laid his hand on Dean's shoulder, "do what you have to. But if you can get this on him, it will give you the chance to do for Sammy what he did for you. Bring him home."

"Iffen you end up with one around you, I put a failsafe into them," Bobby said to Dean. "I put some of your blood in each of them and keyed one of the runes to you specifically. It'll hurt like a bitch, Boy, but you can take it off. With a short incantation I'm going to teach you, it should come off painlessly for you. Just in case."

Jim leveled his gaze on Dean. "This house was always a place John and Sam could call home. Consider it a place you can call home too, a place you can retreat to."

Bobby started gathering up the weapons. "Let's get these out to Jim's church van and get our asses moving then," Bobby ordered.

* * *

Dean examined the hex bags given to him. Of course recognizing the one like he had worn when he had first been captured, he only hoped they would be enough to contain Sam’s powers like they had contained his. After all, the runes in the cell that Azazel had locked him in had trapped him inside and yet Sam had destroyed those.

The other one he wasn’t sure how useful it was going to be since as soon as he performed the spell that would bridge the barrier between this world and the dimension Azazel had taken Sam it wouldn’t be long before the demons were on them. But then again, maybe it would help conceal the angel’s presence from Azazel and his former master wasn’t dumb. If only John Winchester was wearing one the demon would know something was amiss. But if they were all wearing one it might throw him off just enough.

Dean pulled it over his head to join the one already hanging around his neck. He wasn’t going to refuse any help at this point no matter how small it may be.

The young man’s eyes locked with his father’s and Dean nodded in understanding even if a part of him didn’t really… like it. Dean glanced at each man in turn, John Winchester, Jim, Bobby. His brother’s family, his brother’s friends, people his brother wouldn’t want him to simply leave behind. Especially when there was no telling if he left if they would be able to get _back_.

But Sam was the most important thing to him and he didn’t need John telling him to look after Sam. He was always going to take care of his brother first and foremost. He wasn’t going to fail Sam again.

Dean gave a nod to both Bobby when he described how he could remove one of the new hex bags if he needed to and to Jim when the older man told him he could come back here with Sam… alone… if it came to that. Talking done, he helped the other men loading the weapons and the supplies he would need to open the doorway into the van waiting outside.

The dog, Rumsfeld, came up to him with a ball in his mouth a few times and Dean threw it in between trips if only to keep the animal appeased and out from under foot while they worked. When they were done he patted the dog on the head one last time before climbing into the van with the other hunters.

*

A little over an hour later, just like Jim promised, they came to a crossroads.

There was an old legend that crossroads could lead you to many more places than were just visible to the eye. Dean didn’t know if that was true or not, but he knew this spell called for it, so maybe it was.

It couldn’t just be any crossroad, which Jim being a hunter knew because they’d had to drive so long to get here. It had to be old, deserted, and not paved over like a city block. This was a good place, he could feel it even before he took out a knife and slit his palm and began drawing the ancient symbols into the dirt with the knife and his blood.

Dean muttered the spell under his breath as he worked, feeling the old magic swirling around them, all other sound fading away like they were in a vacuum. Once everyone was ready, standing before the runes, Dean took the components of herbs and other ingredients he’d mixed up in the van and threw them down into the center of the circle.

Immediately the ground seemed to split and open up. Peeling back to reveal a dark abyss that seemed to go on forever.

“It won’t stay open for long.” Dean warned and took the first step inside. 

* * *

Eternity. That was what it felt like. Azazel would make him heal himself, then begin the torture anew. Like Prometheus. Only it wasn't his liver eaten out by an eagle. It was his skin peeled from his muscles, muscles cut or burned through layer by layer. Hot knives drawn slowly through his flesh. Pins drilled through bone. And countless other tortures he could barely conceive of. With his ability to heal himself, he knew Azazel did things to him that the demon wouldn't have risked otherwise.  
  
He was fed occasionally, given water more often than he expected, and Azazel forced him to train even while being tortured. It didn't take long for Sam to learn whenever someone entered the room, no matter who it was, demon, human, whatever, his job was to rip it apart. His dark energy swallowed the life force of whatever he destroyed. If Azazel wanted whatever it was to be safe from Sam, he would say so before it was brought in. If Sam didn't react basically without thought, his father would torture him. The life forces he devoured were like a drug. The more he absorbed, the more he wanted to absorb. The darkness in him wrapped through him, wanting, even needing, more control, more power. It was a seductive mistress that he bowed to more witheach passing torture and wach passing life he destroyed.

He had made a couple mistakes. Once he was thirsty enough that he simply took the water out of the pitcher from across the room and put it into his mouth. He was tortured severely for that. He was to receive nothing his father didn't give him. Another time a demon entered the room, one Azazel told him not to destroy, but Sam did anyhow. That demon bastard was one of his torturers and Sam, plain and simple, took great delight in ripping the creature to shreds. His father was pissed as hell but as far as Sam was concerned, it was worth it. Furthermore, that demon was one of the stronger demons Azazel kept close. It weakened Azazel and as an added bonus the life force had been a delicious invigorating meal.

At times he forgot. He forgot his goal was to kill Azazel. He forgot his real father, his friends. He even forgot Dean. But when he had a chance to catch his breath or just after he had healed himself, he would remember. Azazel seemed to know his mind in this regard and reinforced that he was Sam's father, that Sam owed loyalty to him, that he had promised to serve. The rhetoric was slowly getting embedded. He had to grow strong enough before he was completely lost if he had any hopes of remembering that he wanted his father—his demon father—dead.

His father mixed pleasure with pain, mixed pleasure with destruction. His father would jack him off as souls to be destroyed were brought into the room. They would be there just as he climaxed and the orgasm combined with the addiction of destruction was indescribable pleasure.

When his mind was clear enough, he missed Dean. Even with what Azazel promised Dean regarding what Azazel would do to Sam, just to see Dean for a few brief minutes, to feel that feather light touch…maybe he had all imagined it. He struggled to feel Dean through the chains of ownership but there was only a faint shodow there.

Until one day.

Days? Weeks? He had no measure of the time that had passed for him. But he felt the tremor in the chains that led to his brother. Azazel was elsewhere, giving Sam a brief and much needed respite. He felt his brother clearly, keenly, and kept his tears at bay only out of fear. He closed up his mind, his emotions, so he didn't alert his father.

Dean was coming to him. Finally.

The darkness inside him celebrated, recalling the way their powers could twine, the way they could be one. The man in him was both frightened and ecstatic. Dean had to be protected. He had chained Dean's powers, just as Azazel had. Dean was crippled because of him. He thirsted for his brother's touch, his brother's kisses, his brother's love. Azazel professed to love him, and surely was proud of him, but Dean was…everything. He remembered the taste of Dean's powers, his soul, as he had fed from Dean when they had fought. With what he knew now, if they joined, he could devour Dean's powers without hurting his brother. He could share his powers with Dean. It would be perfect. The two of them, together, leading the army of his father. They would act as one, would think as one, would be one. But the chains he had forged in Dean's mind binding those powers, they had to be broken. He wanted his brother at full strength when they joined. Healthy, strong and at full power. He reached down the chains, searching out his brother's soul. He shattered the chains in Dean's mind, freeing all of his abilities. He poured gold healing down the chains, healing Dean's body, invigorating him. When Dean was closer, when he could call Dean to him without hurting Dean's delicious body, the body that his own craved, he would pull Dean to him. He knew how to do that without hurting him now, too. A smile curved his lips. Soon Dean would be at his side again.

* * *

Stepping through the doorway he had opened was a little like coming home. He had lived in purgatories like this his whole life. One of the many dark places secreted away between earth and hell.

After a brief feeling of falling, of all the air being sucked out of his lungs like a vacuum, Dean entered the dimension where his brother was being kept. Of course it was not the same one that Dean had called “home” for most of his lifetime, but it was not all that different either. The “sky” was pitch black but with no stars, moon, or any kind of light for that matter. The air was as cold as ice and thick with dark energy. Even the structure not far away from where he’d “landed” was similar to the one he remembered growing up in.

Azazel had tastes as lavish and twisted as any demon so his “home” resembled it. An old dark mansion as imposing as it was luxurious, only distinguishable from the rest of the cold black landscape because of the few lights from torches inside. This was where his brother was being kept. Deep inside. He could feel him…

He had been able to feel Sam more strongly ever since he had left the home of the Pastor but now that he was here he could feel his brother even more strongly. He could feel Sam’s pain… so much pain… He could feel Sam’s darkness, so strongly that his brother’s soul barely seemed to resemble the one Dean remembered, the one Dean cherished… and he could feel his brother’s desire for him, physical desire and something more… He had been afraid that by now Sam might not even remember who he was, might see him as only an enemy, but now he didn’t know if this was worse.

Dean staggered suddenly when he felt Sam’s power reach for him through their bond, falling to his hands and knees with a cry as he felt the younger man in his mind. He felt that dark desire intensify, the same hunger he’d felt inside the younger man before in the cell when Sam had nearly killed him, right before his brother had sent him away. Dean tried to resist it but he’d been taken by surprise…

Sam did not drain him like he had before however. Instead Dean felt something break inside of him and with it his powers surged stronger. He felt that strange golden light that Sam had used to heal him before pouring through him and he felt the wound on his chest healing, his body growing stronger to match the new strength Sam had given to his powers.

“Sam…” Dean blinked his eyes to clear his vision from the overload. Just in time because like he had warned the hunters it would not be long after he’d opened the doorway that the demons would know they were there. As evidenced by the pack of hellhounds and other demons that were now coming to “greet” them.

“I’m fine.” Dean growled as he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the hands that tried to help him up. Through the whole contact with Sam he’d nearly forgotten about the other men. When he felt Sam’s power finally fade from his mind the message was clear. Sam wanted him to come to him. The younger man certainly didn’t have to worry about that, though his brother might be a little disappointed once Dean got there.

Dean’s eyes blazed darkly as he called up his powers to wrench away the control of the hellhounds from the demons, sicking them back on their former masters. 

* * *

John wasn't quite sure what to expect as he stepped through the doorway. Images of Hell, flashed in his mind. Rocky terrain. Brimstone. Fire. Black clouds in a grey sky. Heat.

The darkness, the cold, the feeling of pure evil all struck him like a fist. It seemed to take a moment for his lungs to realize they could breathe as he finally gasped in a breath. A glance at his fellow hunters said they felt much the same. There was a dim ambient light that allowed him to make out the bleak landscape, but the only real light shone from windows in the hulking building not far away. The lack of stars or a sun, or anything but darkness in the sky sent a shiver down John's spine. They definitely weren't in Kansas anymore.

Dean's sudden sharp cry accompanied by him going to his hands and knees almost had John in a panic. Had the demon already taken a swipe at his boy and they had barely just arrived? Or was Sam being tortured and their bond was going to all but incapacitate Dean? John rushed to Dean's side, and heard Sam's name on his son's lips. So Sam was being tortured?

His head snapped up at the sound of the baying of hellhounds and the rumble of voices as the first wave of demons headed for them. Dean brushed away his hands to help him to his feet and John felt the swell of dark power in his boy. At that John gave a nod and took up his place beside Dean. He began firing the darts into the rushing onslaught, hearing the accompanying "whumps" of the tranq guns coming from Bobby and Jim's direction. The screams of the demons struck by the poison filled darts were ear piercing. Jim's voice was strong as he began chanting exorcisms and black smoke began filling the air as the closer demons were cast back into Hell. He watched as he saw the hellhounds turn back on the demons, ripping their throats out. He knew it was probably wrong, but he felt a burst of pride in Dean's abilities. He had nothing to do with it, the demon had done it, but John was still proud of the way his boy fought to reach his brother. He saw the second wave coming and cursed, pulling out a second tranq gun and firing into the fray.

Azazel stood at the window and watched the four men fight against his minions. He had felt the sudden burst of power in Dean. Sam's doing, he was certain, and he growled a little to himself. He hadn't gotten Sam quite as far along as he had hoped, but still, it should be far enough. When the men entered the room where Sam was, if they even made it that far, his son would tear them apart before he even realized who they were. He found a smile at that thought. That would likely be the final break and Sam would be his. At that point he might even be able to convince the boy to give him his soul.  


* * *

  


Dean felt absolutely no pity for the demons that fell before them. Screaming as their black souls were ripped from them and forced back to hell. Writing, dying or laying dead at their feet from the poison they’d been injected with. There was nothing but determination in the young man’s eyes as he advanced forward. Sending his remaining hellhounds against the second wave of demons without thought. He felt some of the stronger ones trying to use their powers against them, against him and the men beside him, and Dean easily caught their powers in his own and turned them back onto the demons. Taking great pleasure as they screamed as he ripped them apart.

“Azazel…” Dean growled, looking up at one of the windows where his demon father stood, watching them.

The shockwave of power fueled by hatred that exploded from Dean blasted every demon trying to surround them back a good fifty feet and slammed into the structure. Shattering glass and raining splinters of wood everywhere. His hellhounds immediately went after the fallen demons, clearing a path for them, and Dean started to run for the building.

“Let’s go!” He shouted, barely waiting for the other men. He could feel Sam. He knew exactly where his brother was.

There were more demons inside, of course, but they fell easily. Almost too easily, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Whether or not that had to do with the increased power Sam allowed him or the fact that Azazel was purposefully holding his demons back, he wasn’t sure. Honestly, he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting to Sam.

The dungeons were not hard to find. The smell of death and suffering would have led them there easily even if he didn’t have his bond with Sam leading them there. The absence of other screams in the cells however was more chilling than anything. Azazel always like to keep around “fresh meat” for his amusement… but there wasn’t any…

When they neared the cell he knew would contain his brother, Dean stopped outside and held up his hand.

“Wait here. Something isn’t right…” Dean told the other men before he turned to the door, and with barely a thought it shattered and he walked inside. 

* * *

All the hunters felt the wave of power explode from Dean and watched as demons were thrown backward and the wave of power rolled forward and into the house, shattering anything in its path. Dean rushed forward calling them to follow.

"John, stay close to him. Jim and I have your six," Bobby yelled above the din. The two men stayed close to the Winchesters but stood ready to take down anything on their tail.

The four rolled down the hall, meeting resistance that Dean all but brushed aside. John's hackles rose. This was too damned easy. Not that he hadn't emptied half his ammo, not that a few demons hadn't gotten through and done damage to him and the other hunters, but Azazel was a god-damned fallen angel and had spent the last twenty years making these plans. Azazel wanted them there. Either the demon was waiting for them or Sam was already lost to them and would fight against them. John refused to accept his son was lost to him. He had given up on Dean. Nothing would make him give up on Sam. Nothing.

John and the others followed Dean's orders to wait, all practically gagging in the stench. Dean said something was wrong and he would know. John felt the barest stir of power inside him. Briathos was readying himself. It was up to John to get Azazel there. If they went up against Sam and were torn down before Azazel came, they might not have the strength to go against the demon. He turned to the other hunters.

"Look after my boys. I got a demon to kill," John said.

Jim started to protest.

"I've got the colt. Jim. I've got tricks up my sleeve and you know it." His jaw clenched momentarily. "You know I didn't figure I'd walk out of this. My boys are all that matter. Look after them." Before giving them a chance to try to do anything to stop them, John took off down the hall. He had seen the demon in the window, had heard Dean's growl, and knew that was his target. He muttered incantations as he barreled down the hall, firing darts into demons until the demons started brushing aside those darts before they struck. He switched over to holy water.

"Come on out you cowardly son of a bitch!" John screamed. "I know your god-forsaken ass is here. You destroyed my family. Come face me!"

*

Sam was still resting, still recovering. He was surprised when the hooks running through his wrists were suddenly extracted as the door to his cell exploded inward. He didn't scream. That pain was nothing. He immediately healed the injuries and struck out at whatever was coming through. His job. Destroy anything that came through that door that wasn’t his father. He unleashed his full power against whatever was entering. Azazel had trained him. No holding back. Strike it down, kill it, devour it or suffer for his disobedience. That at least, he had learned and learned well.  


* * *

At least this time Dean had been expecting the trap.

Even being ready for the attack didn’t quite prepare the young man for it, unfortunately. The sheer strength of the ravaging hunger and darkness that tried to rip him apart was not something anyone could really be prepared for. Sam’s powers slammed into him with the force of a freight train, literally knocking him off his feet.

His own powers had reacted immediately, wrapping around him in a protective cocoon, pushing outwards. Trying to keep the dark clawing tendrils away from his body but Sam wasn’t holding anything back and a few got through, ripping bloody chunks out of him.

So fucking strong… Sam had gotten so strong… It was like trying to fight with a rabid wolf. It was relentless, mindless, rage. Even as his powers struggled against Sam’s he felt the younger man draining him, just like Sam had done before he had sent him away. Weakening him… Sam was going to finish the job he’d started then, and he wasn’t even sure that his brother even knew what he was doing.

No… he was not going to fail again, god damn it!

“SAM! STOP!” Dean yelled as loud as he could, mustering up every ounce of power he could and sent it back at Sam. Not on the outside, but through their bond. Unfortunately it meant he could no longer support the shield that was just barely keeping him alive through Sam’s attack. If that didn’t knock some sense into the younger man…

*

Azazel had already been on his way down to the basement. Dean and the other humans had surely reached Sam by now and the demon was looking forward to the show. He felt the explosion of power from Sam and he was already grinning to himself, just imagining the look on his son’s face when Sam realized what he’d done to his “family” to his precious Dean.

The deal he’d made with Sam unfortunately prevented him from directly harming his pathetic brother. Even once he broke Sam completely he still wouldn’t be able to order the younger man to kill him. This way, he hadn’t ordered Sam to kill his brother, but the guilt the younger man would feel knowing he’d done it would surely push the boy over the edge completely. It would be exquisite, watching those beautiful tears fall even as he punished the young man for them and consoled him at the same time.

Through the ruckus he heard the human’s shout and Azazel laughed as he came face to face with the boys’ father. Now this, this was going to be amusing.

“John Winchester. I’m surprised to see you here… while your sons are busy killing each other.” 

* * *

He immediately knew the one Azazel had sent him was a test. It was strong, but not nearly strong enough. It erected shields so it knew Sam was going to attack it, but Sam still got a few good pieces out of him. He poured every bit of rage into his attack. The more he hurt his opponent, the less punishment he would suffer. His powers lapped hungrily at the strong life force, a life force that was…familiar. The dark tentacles froze momentarily, something his father would definitely punish him for, but it was if he didn't even have control over them. The dark writhing energy recognized it before Sam consciously did. The life force, it was…the other half of itself.

The familiar voice penetrated Sam's black haze and the blast that hit him through his and Dean's bond nearly staggered him. Reflex made him lash back. Dean had attacked him before, tried to kill him before. With no shield, the tentacles dove forward and wrapped Dean in their power. Friend or foe…?

Sam regained his balance, keeping Dean firmly under his control. He let his powers crawl cautiously up their bonds. Could it really be Dean? …worthless whore… his father's voice echoed in his mind. …weak, putrid, undeserving… Sam slowly approached the man he held pressed against the stone. He let the black fade from his eyes.

"Did you come to try to kill me again, or to be with me?" Sam asked. He wanted to heal his brother, but until he knew the answer, he wouldn't. Azazel couldn't punish him for not killing Dean, so he felt a small bit of relief in that. Though depending on Dean's answer, and the truthfulness of it, he might have to.

*

"My boy is stubborn," John said. "Both of them. And both of them have Winchester strength. Sam stole Dean away from you. What makes you think Dean can't do the same of Sam? And your little bargain with Sam won't mean a damned thing if you're dead."

John wanted to kill the demon with his bare hands, wring the life from him, slice him open and watch his guts spill onto the floor. He thirst for vengeance was monumental. That demon bastard was going to die. Maybe he wouldn't get to do it himself, but he was the weapon that would see the demon fall. He gave Azazel a final knowing smile and then let his soul step aside.

Briathos burst free of the place he had hidden himself deep in the father's mind. He struck at the demon with his holy grace, throwing the demon back and into the wall as the grace pierced the fallen angel's soul. "Corrupter of men, Leader of insurrection, your death is demanded by our Holy Father."

The angel's voice boomed. The mansion trembled, walls cracking, floor shaking, lightning dancing around him as he spread his wings and Holy wrath filled his being.

* * *

The backlash of power that Sam hit him with when his shields were down was almost enough to render Dean unconscious. Dean groaned softly where he lay on the floor. Squeezing his eyes shut and just forced himself to breathe no matter how much it hurt. His ribs felt crushed and every breath he drew was agony, but the darkness, the hate, emanating from Sam felt so much worse. Even if he wasn’t already held frozen in place by the cold tendrils of power winding their way into him he didn’t think he could have moved.

Dean forced his eyes open when he felt Sam standing over him, blinking the blood out of his eyes. Sam’s question… he supposed it wasn’t unexpected. He had tried to kill Sam twice now, and failed. Why should his brother expect anything different from him now? Dean’s reasons for trying to kill him didn’t matter. Especially when he had no idea what Azazel had made his brother believe between the last time he had seen Sam and now.

It still hurt though, as much as he tried to deny it. The last time he had seen his brother, Sam had seemed so happy, so relieved, to see him. Now the younger man’s first instinct upon seeing him was to attack him. The power, the darkness… it wasn’t Sam’s fault, it wasn’t Sam, not really… it was what Azazel was trying to turn Sam into. Just like what Azazel had tried to turn _him_ into. Until Sam, his brother, his master, his lover, had shown him something other than hate.

Dean spat out a mouthful of blood.

“I came to take you home.” Dean managed to rasp. Reaching out to his brother physically was impossible, so he reached out to him with what little was left of his powers right now. Trying to pour all his love for Sam down the chains that bound his soul to his master.

Dean felt the reverberations of the battle upstairs even through the floor where he laid and he knew the angel had revealed itself. Angel against fallen angel… they all needed to get out of here as soon as possible, before the resulting battle buried them all alive.

“Come home with me? Please… I love you…”

* * *

Sam circled the man he held pinned. He could feel the pain coming from him, both through the chains of his soul and the tentacles that held him.

Home…his home was here. Here where the training took place. Here where his father tortured him, tended him, fucked him. There was no deception in the man's words. He felt so confused. He felt the love Dean felt for him. You're mine. I'm yours. Always. The words echoed in the distant reaches of his mind.

He was sworn to serve Azazel. Sworn to accept his training….And he had done so. He had not said how long he would do these things. Only that he would. But if he called the deal met, Dean would be in danger again. Dean. His love.

Go home with him? But their home was here…wasn't it?

He felt the battle above, the sheer power that shook the foundations of this place.

Loved him. Tried to kill him. Worthless…No! Dean was not worthless. Dean was precious. More precious that anything.

Dean served their father. Had served. Still served? Sam fell to his knees. He was failing his father's test. He knew he was. But Dean…

He reached out with his powers and healed the man he loved. If Dean wanted him dead…then so be it. He didn't know anymore what was and wasn't. Failing Azazel meant punishment. Terrible punishment. The type where the only thing you could remember was how to scream. He had forgotten things. He was certain of that. Important things. When he tried to remember them, they slipped through his fingers like sand. Dean was here now. Dean loved him. Dean would do whatever was supposed to be done. Sam's death. Sam's rescue. Whatever was meant to be.

He withdrew his dark power and sealed it back inside himself.

Sam let his shields fall and bowed this head. He gave his fate over to Dean.

 

* * *

Dean's eyes followed Sam, nothing but trust and love in them. Surely if Sam had wanted him dead he would already be dead. The fact that his brother was hesitating meant something, didn't it? Maybe his words had reached the younger man? What if they didn't? He didn't know what Sam would do. Demand that he stand by his side? Azazel's side? Kill him if he refused?

He still had the hex bag in his pocket that would bind Sam's powers… if he could just get it on the younger man. That was certainly easier said than done when his brother held him frozen in place and all he could do was wait for Sam's judgment.

He had sworn he would not fail Sam again… he would not…

Dean couldn't contain the small gasp that escaped his lips when he felt the sudden rush of warmth, of light, flow into him. The same golden light that had filled him when he had first stepped through the doorway, healing him then, healing him now. His breathing eased almost immediately and soon the pain was gone as well. Dean looked up at his brother hopefully.

The dark power vanished, allowing Dean to move again, and he pushed himself up. He felt Sam's powers retreat inside of him. Leaving himself completely vulnerable. Sam wore the same posture, the same expression, that Dean himself always had when kneeling before his demon master. Azazel. He hated it. Sam would never bow his head to him again, ever.

Dean didn't hesitate wrapping his arms around the younger man, pulling Sam gently but firmly against his body, and kissing him. Touching Sam tenderly and wrapping his powers around the younger man, caressing him as though he were made of the finest china.

"Sam… I'm yours… you're mine… love you…" Dean whispered over and over between tasting his brother's lips. The battle continued to rage above them but for this moment in time it was just him and Sam.

Brimstone Gold

* * *

Sam waited for judgment even though he knew it was wrong. He owned Dean's soul…right? Maybe…maybe he had it wrong. Maybe Dean owned him? If he owned Dean's soul…and he thought he did….the slave should not have power over the master, but Sam knew he was lost. It was a slave's job to protect his master. So either Dean would protect him or if Dean owned him, look after him because that was a master's job. To look after, to punish, to love his slave. …But Azazel…his father…he served his father…demon father…not real father…not dad…

Sam was startled when the older man's arms wrapped around him, pulling him firmly against him yet it was the most gentle of embraces. Azazel was never so gentle. Dean kissed him again and again and he felt the powers wrap around him, gentle and loving and in a way he …almost…remembered. Sam opened his mouth, the way he was supposed to, to let Azazel's tongue in. Yes, Dean must own him. He didn't remember selling his soul. He remembered being adamant that he wouldn't. But the chains were there. He felt their souls chained together. Maybe he had grown weak and had done so. A servant would never so boldly kiss his master without his master asking for it.

Yours…Mine…Love…

Maybe Dean had been testing him. Maybe Azazel had given him to Dean to train and to serve. But Dean was in disfavor. Why would he do that? Maybe Sam was in disfavor. Maybe he had done something wrong. He felt himself tremble as the fear passed through him and he curled his powers a little tighter in on themselves inside him. If he had done something wrong, the punishment would be severe.

He knew one thing. He trusted Dean without question. Azazel…he had never trusted Azazel, not all the time anyhow. His father would punish him for no reason he understood. Father…demon father…his mind struggled, trying to remember something that was important.

Dean's lips, Dean's taste. It was so sweet. He moaned into Dean's mouth. Tears weren't allowed but he wanted to bury his head in his master's shoulder and sob. He did the unthinkable anyhow. He pulled away from Dean's kiss and did just that, sobbing into the crook of Dean's neck. He had done so many wrong things. So many terrible things. God, God would forgive him.

"Forgive me," he begged softly. "Forgive me."

The chains between them were wrong. So very wrong. He began to weave the chains of ownership throughout his own soul as he pulled out the chains wrapped in Dean's soul, pulled them out so Dean held them. He wanted Dean to own him, not Azazel. He would serve Dean. Whatever Dean asked of him, he would do. He trusted Dean. He loved Dean. The chains he felt forged to Azazel shattered. The deal was done. He had met his bargain and now, now he could serve and love and protect Dean.  
  
"Master," Sam cried softly. "I love you."  


* * *

Dean could sense his brother's confusion. He could feel the younger man's fear. It wasn't all that different from what Dean had felt before, when he had renounced Azazel as his master and pledged himself to Sam instead.

His heart twisted like a knife was being thrust into it and it brought tears to his eyes to think of everything that Sam must have gone through… Everything his brother must have suffered, for him. To keep him safe… Sam had gone through such pain. Perhaps even worse than Dean himself had suffered at the demon's hands, to change Sam like this.

But it was still Sam. His Sam. He knew it. He felt it. No matter what the demon had done to his brother, it was still Sam inside. He would protect Sam. He would help Sam remember. He would take care of his brother and never let anything harm him again.

Dean felt the floor beneath their knees shake again, even more violently than before and bits of debris began to rain down from the ceiling. They couldn't stay here. They had to leave now. And yet, when Sam buried his face against his neck, sobbing and begging for forgiveness, Dean didn't move a muscle except to hold the younger man tighter to him. Running his fingers through his brother's hair and down his back, kissing the side of his face. Soothing, petting, loving…

It was wrong. It should be Dean begging forgiveness from Sam, for failing him, for leaving him in the hands of Azazel, for letting him suffer like this. But Sam seemed so fragile right now in his arms, like one small push could shatter him completely, and he could not lay the burden of his guilt on the younger man's shoulders.

Dean gasped however when he felt Sam's powers working at the chains that bound their souls together, the twisting pain in his heart now like a gaping bleeding wound when he felt Sam pull the chains out of him. No… what had he done? Why? He wanted to beg Sam why after everything was he throwing away his soul, why Sam no longer wished to be his master… But before he could he felt Sam chain _his_ soul to Dean's instead and…

No, it was wrong. Dean could not be the master. Sam was the master… But if he refused this… Dean remembered well how lost and scared he'd felt… was feeling now… when he thought Sam no longer wanted him. Somehow Sam thought he was the master. He didn't know why, but if he refused to claim his brother's soul he didn't know what Sam might do. What if he tried to give it to Azazel instead…

Another tremor though the floor, the walls cracking around them, and Dean knew they'd run out of time. They would fix this later, but for now Dean accepted and wrapped his powers around his brother's soul as protectively as they were wrapped around Sam's body. Dean quickly stripped off his flannel shirt and slid it around the younger man's bare shoulders, and then lifted his brother up into his arms. Dean walked quickly to the door, cradling Sam protectively against him.

"I've got you. I've got you, Sammy. You're mine." He whispered soothingly into Sam's ear, stepping out of the room he was very glad that the two hunters had obeyed him and not entered. If they had there would have been no way for Dean to protect them, Sam would have killed them instantly. Even if he didn't remember who they were now, eventually he would, and it would kill Sam to know what he'd done to his friends. Dean wasn't all that surprised to see the bodies of a few more demons in the hallway and the hunters looking a little worse for wear but at least alive.

"We have to go, now!" Dean ordered, ignoring the worried looks that the older men were giving Sam. They didn't have time now. Dean started to run back down the hall the way they'd come, barely waiting for the other two men to follow him.

* * *

Sam's sobs softened as he felt Dean's power wrap around him. He let go of Dean when his master pulled away. He was ready to go into the chains—no hooks—again. He wasn't often allowed off of them this long, and with him failing his test, he had no doubt it would be a long time before he was off of them again. He was startled when Dean wrapped the shirt over his shoulders. He had failed. He shouldn't be rewarded. But it that's what Dean wanted. He was even more surprised when Dean picked him up, holding him protectively. He hadn't felt so safe in so long. He had long since learned not to question. He kept his arms wrapped around Dean's neck and his head buried against his master. He didn’t' know who Dean was speaking to and didn't look up to find out. It didn't matter. Just more underlings.

He didn't know where they had to go, but the power he felt that shook the mansion was almost frightening. He could tell his father was in battle and he lifted his head.

"Father is fighting. Shouldn't we help him?" Sam asked tentatively, but when the man holding him began to ran, he gripped dean tighter. He could walk. He could run. But apparently Dean didn't want him to, so he didn't resist. Maybe they were going to help father. He was suppose to lead the army after all. He readied his powers for the fight ahead. That must be why Dean was hurrying. He wondered who his father was fighting, not that it mattered. Maybe he could regain favor if he did well. Maybe he wouldn't be as badly punished for failing his test if he did well.

 

* * *

Dean stumbled more than once as he ran, just from the shocks traveling through the floor. But he didn’t slow and he didn’t loosen his hold on the precious burden in his arms, not for one second. He wasn’t all that surprised that they met no further opposition as they made their way out of the crumbling mansion. Any demons left alive would have probably fled in terror once they realized the angel and former angel were locked in battle. Even the hellhounds that Dean had controlled earlier were gone.

That was just fine with Dean. His only concern right now was Sam, getting Sam as far away from Azazel as possible.

Sam’s question though, about going to aid their _father_ made Dean grit his teeth. He knew Sam was speaking about Azazel and not John Winchester and if possible it made him want to kill the demon even more. Dean shook his head , brushing his lips tenderly over Sam’s forehead when he felt the younger man’s power stir.

“Don’t worry about that. Just relax. Conserve your strength. I’ll take care of it, I promise.” He reassured Sam softly.

Once outside of the crumbling structure even the ground was trembling violently like an earthquake, and Dean wondered briefly if even this dimension would survive the battle between the demon and the angel or if it would simply crumble in on itself destroying both of them. Dean did not like the answer his mind came up with even as he quickly recited the incantation that would open the door back between this realm and the human world. Instead of stepping through it with Sam, Dean turned to the two other hunters.

“I’m going to help Dad, Sam. Bobby and Jim are your friends. Go with them. They’ll help you, they’ll take care of you.” Dean told the younger man gently, kissing him softly one last time, then, as much as it killed him to do so, he handed Sam off to Bobby and Jim. Giving the two older men a glare that broke no argument. “Get him out of here.”

Without waiting for the hunters response Dean ran back towards the crumbling structure. 

* * *

The dimension was beginning to fail. Sam could see it unraveling at its distant edges. Well, not see it, but feel it. Dean told him to relax but he couldn't. He also knew Dean wasn't strong enough alone to take care of it, no matter what he thought.

Dean set him down between his two minions. Bobby and Jim…those names were familiar and he knew he should know them.

He was beginning to get frustrated.

Everything had been clear until Dean came into the room and told him he…loved…him. He felt the love and the trust even though he could have crushed the man. Even if the battle that was raging had not been under way it would have shaken his foundations. He knew Dean. He loved Dean. And yet, he…well, he didn't really remember him. He remembered bits and pieces. Things seemed to keep getting foggier and foggier. Ever since his father had been carving runes into him and having him drink the foul red liquid. Father poured things into the runes and had Sam heal them over with the bits and pieces of herbs and liquid still in them. Things were so clear when his father was near him. The further he got from his father the fuzzier he seemed to get in the brain. Father…dammit, something important was there in his brain. Something so very damned important.

He finally looked at his master's two minions. Jim and Bobby. They were familiar. Friends. Yes, they were friends…family even?

His gaze followed Dean back toward the house that surely wouldn't stand much longer. The two minions…friends…took him by either arm and tried to guide him through the doorway that would take him away from his master, from the one he loved and served, from Dean. No. Even if he were severely punished for it, he would not go. With hardly a thought he gently lifted them up, disengaged their grasp from his arms, and nudged them toward the doorway.

"I can not leave him," he said apologetically before he gave them the final push through. "I will make certain he does not blame you. Stand ready. Dean and I, we will be there soon and…we will probably need help."

Once the friends were safe, he turned back toward the house and ran after his master. If they joined, if their powers united as one, nothing could stand before them. And Dad needed help.

Sam almost stumbled as the face of a man flashed into his memory. Dad…

Determination filled him. Dean was going to help Dad. Not Father. Dad.

 

* * *

Azazel stood gloating over the bloodied form of Briathos. The angel inside of the man had certainly taken him by surprise. It wasn’t often, though he had to admit, these Winchester’s seemed to surprise him much more than anything else ever had in the last millennium. But it was finished now.

The pathetic man that the angel wore could barely stand now. His own meat suit wasn’t much better off at the moment but what did he really care? He would merely take another when he was done here. Perhaps he would even take Dean’s body as his own, the young man certainly had many fine qualities he’d enjoyed over the years and he could just imagine the look on Sam’s face as he fucked him with his brother’s body… if there was anything left of the boy once Sam was through with him that is.

“Give up, Briathos.” The demon ordered almost casually as he used his powers to crush the angel pinned to the floor just a bit more. The angel would be able to heal almost any wound the man suffered but he could not heal death. If the man died while Briathos was still inside of him, so would the angel.

“You’ve lost. Leave, crawl back to your pathetic Holy ‘Father’, and I’ll let you live. This world will be mine. You don’t have the strength left to stop me.” Azazel taunted, sneering, and he was unprepared for the sudden blast of power that knocked him back. Making him lose his grip on the angel at the same time he turned his eyes, promising death, on the intruder who had dared the interruption. Only to be surprised again seeing Dean Winchester standing in the doorway, glaring back at him with just as much hate.

“You’re the one who’s lost.” Dean growled. 

* * *

Sam ran faster when he felt the power surge he recognized as his master's…brother's energy. Dean was his… brother. How could he have forgotten that? He still felt confused, but it seemed like some of his cognitive skills were beginning to return. He didn't remember a lot yet, and he suddenly regretted calling the deal between himself and Azazel finished. If he hadn't, Azazel would not be able to strike back at Dean.

He took the stairs two at a time, realizing just how much danger his brother was in and praying that Dean realized it too. All he could feel at the end of the hall was dark writhing power and rage.

Dean was definitely stronger since Sam had released the chains that had bound a goodly portion of his abilities, but Sam had weakened him when he attacked him and Dean had already gone up against several demons and wasn't as fresh as he could have been. Sam released all his power, pulling out more from himself than he thought was possible, more than Azazel had ever been able to extract, because that dark energy was fortified with his complete and utter love and devotion to Dean. He cast his powers ahead of him and found Dean's monstrous roiling mass of energy. Without hesitation he wrapped his power into his brother's, uniting them, giving Dean free access to every dram of energy Sam possessed.

* * *

Losing had never been an option. Not for the angel Briathos and not for the man whose body he inhabited. Even if it cost them both their lives, Azazel could not be allowed to go free. The angel and the man, John Winchester, were in perfect agreement on that point even if their reasons were different. The angel would not permit the demon to go through with his plans of destroying his father’s world, and the man would not give the demon a chance to go after his sons again.

So when the tide of battle had begun to turn unfavorably for the angel, Briathos had done the only thing he could. He had begun destroying the very core foundations of this dimension. If it did not kill both the angel and the demon outright then at least it would trap them here indefinitely. He would never allow Azazel to escape. The price had been more than acceptable to John Winchester.

At least until he felt the surge of power that had attacked Azazel, recognizing it as his son’s almost before he recognized the younger man’s voice. NO! Briathos had felt the doorway to the dimension open. He had reassured him that his sons would be safe.

“Dean… Get out!” John Winchester managed even as the angel rushed to heal his body now that the attack on it had been interrupted. John would not let his son die here with him! But the younger man completely ignored him, focused completely on his former demon master.

The look of shock on Azazel’s face would have been almost comical if it wasn’t immediately followed by such an expression of black hatred. Azazel had been too preoccupied to notice before how the chains he held on Sam’s soul through the deal had been shattered. Sensing now how Sam was bound to Dean, not the other way around, ignited such a rage inside of him the structure began to tremble even more violently around them.

He’d had enough of these games! He would not let this _boy_ ruin all of his plans! If the deal no longer stood he could shred Dean Winchester apart into so many pieces his brother would not be able to find one intact organ. Dean would go to hell and he would make his brother suffer so much Sam would beg to join his brother in hell just to be free of it!

Yet Azazel’s attack never reached the boy, slamming into Dean’s power and though the boy stumbled back a little under its force he was left untouched. Fighting in a reverse tug of war against the power of a _fallen angel_! It was impossible!

Dean seemed just as surprised for a moment that he was still alive, but he didn’t let his concentration waver even for a moment. Even once he realized it was not only his power that was keeping Azazel’s at bay. Sam… god damn it! He’d told the younger man to leave! He felt Sam’s power join with his completely, giving control of it over to him, much like when he and Sam had used their combined powers to heal Jim. How they had formed the shield to keep Azazel from killing them in the panic room. Only now their powers were not focused on healing or protection. They were intent to destroy.

And whether it was because Azazel was weak from his battle with the angel or he and Sam were simply stronger together than the demon who had given them their powers, they were succeeding. Azazel’s defenses crumbling. He could see it on the demon’s face when Azazel realized it too.

Azazel wasn’t foolish. He knew when to cut his losses and run, and Dean could see the split second when the demon decided to do just that. When the black cloud of smoke began to erupt from the meat suit he was wearing, trying to escape, and Dean refused to let it happen. His eyes flashing gold as he pulled on every bit of power both he and Sam possessed, forcing Azazel to remain inside its host. The bastard wasn’t getting away from them!

“Dean!” He barely heard his dad shout. The gun slid towards him. His still wasn’t strong enough to use it and Dean was closer. A second later the gun was in his hand. Its shot like thunder even in the roar of the crumbling structure around them. Hitting the demon square in its chest. The shock and pain on Azazel’s face more gratifying than anything Dean had ever witnessed. The demon’s soul extinguishing inside its body in bursts of internal fire right before their eyes.

Dean felt his knees give out and he crumbled in exhaustion even as Azazel fell down dead at his feet. The golden sheen of the demon’s eyes that had always terrified him so much fading to nothing. It was over. 

* * *

The walls continued to shake as the dimension closed in on itself. Distant parts unraveled, the destruction slowly eating its way toward the mansion, then reaching the mansion itself and chomping through the masonry and wood as if it were nothing. Sam stumbled to one knee, pushed himself back up and rushed on toward the room where his brother was.

The blast of energy that hit his brother made him stagger as readily as it had Dean, but their shield held. He reached the door in time to see Dean level an old Colt 45 at Azazel…his father. Sam started to move forward, to stop Dean. He saw a man, his…dad? lying nearby and before he could try to stop Dean, the gun went off, the sound of it ear-rending. His father collapsed, electrical fire sparked like lightning across and inside the body that the demon wore. Sam stood, stunned. Father? Dean had killed father?

Dean was his master. If that's what his master wanted, then it was obviously the right thing. He ran forward to where his brother had collapsed.

"I've got you," he told Dean reassuringly. He could feel the encroaching destruction of the dimension. They had to get back to the doorway before that path was closed. He wasn't certain they could find another way out if they didn't.

His gaze slid over to the man that a voice inside him told him was 'dad.' His attention flicked briefly back to his father, then back to the man who was inhabited by a powerful force. Since Dean had killed father and father was obviously trying to kill…Dad…then…Dad and whatever was in him was a friend. He picked up the gun that had killed Azazel, certain it was something that should not be lost or left behind.

Pulling Dean's arm over his shoulder he got Dean to his feet. "C'mon, we have to get out of here. The dimension is failing."

* * *

Even as exhausted as he was Dean managed to look up at his brother when Sam knelt next to him. He was both relieved to see that the younger man was unharmed and terrified that Sam was _here_ instead of back in the human world where he _should_ be. Safe… Here, was anywhere but safe and Dean certainly didn’t have time to be upset. Not when the very floor they were kneeling on suddenly lurched beneath them, sending them both almost sprawling even as Sam helped him to stand.

They weren’t going to make it… not when the mansion was already being consumed by the edge of the dimension as it collapsed in on them.

But even as Dean turned his head towards… dad… the man he had risked his _and_ Sam’s life to help, the man was there right beside of them. It was obvious the angel hadn’t had time to completely heal the body it was inside but it had healed it enough.

The older Winchester wrapped his arms around both his sons and before Dean knew it they were _flying_. Dean didn’t really have time to mentally berate himself for forgetting that angels had _wings_ as the room they’d just been in literally disintegrated behind them into nothing.

John had barely set them both down on the ground before Dean was grabbing his knife and reopening the doorway back to the crossroads as quickly as he could. It had barely opened before Dean was shouting “Go!” grabbing Sam and shoving them both through. 

* * *

They weren't going to make it. That was the thought that went through Sam's mind. Even with he and Dean combining their powers, they weren't strong enough to withstand the collapse of reality around their ears, and certainly not after the recent expenditure of power. That was when the other man…Dad, his mind supplied hesitantly, was there and grabbed both he and his brother.

Wings. His dad had wings. He felt the absurd desire to laugh. A demon for a father, an angel for a dad. He wondered if maybe his mother was a Greek goddess. At this point, he didn't think he would be surprised.

They barely made it out and away from the gaping maul of the Void as it consumed more and more of the mansion. Sam had hardly begun to find his balance after the angel set them down when Dean was bleeding and chanting and Sam was pushed/pulled through the dimensional door and landed flat on his face. Dean's minions—his friends—were there and rushed forward immediately pulling Dean and Sam away from the rip in the fabric of the universe. The angel barely made it through before the black angry tear folded in on itself and was gone.

Sam sat up with the help of the older grizzled man, Bobby. His focus immediately went to his master but Dean seemed okay except for his bleeding hand and panting to catch his breath. Sam reached out with his powers and mended the bleeding hand, but felt his head spin a little from even that tiny exertion. He turned to his dad, looking at the dark shadow of the angel's wings. The body of the man was healing quickly. Sam wanted to try to protect Dean from the angel, but he wasn't sure he had the strength. But the angel had saved them, so maybe they weren't on the angel's hit list to begin with.

The angel fluffed his wings and looked down at Dean. "You have done a great service for Humanity, and you show the capacity for true love and loyalty. When you are ready, if you choose and it is truly in your heart, you may ask for forgiveness for the evil you did in the service of Azazel. While I can not pretend to understand the will of God, I will speak on your behalf. I am only an angel, but I believe that there is a place in Heaven for your soul Dean Winchester." He gave a brief smile to Sam. "And yours as well."

His gaze broadened to take in both young men. "Incestuous relations are rarely approved of, but the demon blood has entangled your souls such that you are each part of the other. You have taken the evil of the tainted blood and turned it pure. This relationship will not condemn you to Hell." He returned his focus to Dean. "Chaining another's soul, whether by that soul's consent or not, will be looked upon… _unfavorably_. Choose your paths wisely. Redemption is possible, but will be hard won."

Turning to Jim, he gave the priest the mildest of glares. "I would suggest that spell finds its way to destruction. While a major battle was won today, it is not for Man to decide when such battles will be fought nor are angels meant to be at Man's beck and call."

Jim bowed his head. "Of course. I'll see that it's destroyed."

The angel gave a sharp nod. "This vessel has been healed but will need a great deal of rest to fully recover from recent events." He cast his gaze around to meet each man's eyes. "Do not call on me again."

White blinding light poured from John Winchester's mouth and disappeared in the sky overhead. The former vessel of the angel collapsed in a heap, unconscious.


	14. Chapter 14

  
Dean awoke to the soft rays of dawn stretching its fingers across his face in the gentlest caress from the open window. A small relaxed smile curved his lips as he watched the lightening of the sky. A new day, one he honestly hadn't thought he would see. Yesterday should have probably been his last, and yet it wasn't. He was alive. They were alive.    


  
All of them. 

The five men that had made their way back to Jim's house were all bruised, bloodied, and beaten in some way or another and yet they were all alive. They were alive and Azazel was dead. Dean could still barely believe it. A part of him kept thinking that he was going to wake up and find it had all been a dream. A dream as horrible as it was joyous, but still only a dream. 

But it wasn't. When Dean turned his head away from the window to the figure wrapped in a blanket and curled up against his side, he knew it wasn't a dream. Sam was still there. Exactly where he had been all night after he had led Sam into the house, both of them so weary they could barely stand. Jim and Bobby reassuring him they would take care of Dad, and Dean had taken Sam to the bedroom that had been "his" since he had first woken up in this house. 

Dean had no idea what time it was and he hadn't cared. He had gotten Sam into bed and followed. Wrapping his body as well as his powers around the younger man protectively. As soon as Sam's breath had evened out in sleep, Dean had followed the younger man. 

Real. Alive. Safe. It still made his blood boil with rage to think of everything Sam had gone through at the demon's hands. But now Sam was with him now, safe, and he would never let his brother ever come to such harm again. 

Dean smiled at the younger man, brushing a soft kiss across his brother's forehead.    


* * *

It was strange to wake up in a soft bed. Strange to feel the brush of a kiss on his forehead. He was accustomed to waking up to discipline or to Father satisfying his needs. Instead he awoke to find a green-eyed man smiling at him, love in his eyes. Sam smiled back. The feel of the man’s powers wrapping around him protectively, that was new too.

They were in the Human world. Soon he would be leading the demon army to strike down all who defied his father. Father had told him that once he reached the Human world he would have no distractions, no memories, except those which he needed to lead the army and to answer to Azazel. He felt the chains on his soul that led to the naked man in bed with him. It was not Azazel in a new meatsuit. This man felt very different from his father. Perhaps this man was meant to lead the first few incursions and Sam was meant to watch and learn from his new master. He didn’t understand why his soul was chained to this man, but he served. It was not his place to question. Maybe his soul was so chained to protect him from the resistance they would surely meet.

He reached out with his powers, frowning when he did not feel the army of demons standing at ready. In fact, he felt no demons nearby. The man with him was mostly dark, demon blood of his father strong in him, but not a demon. There was one other very weak bit of demon blood nearby, but otherwise he felt no pulse of darkness. With the runes inscribed on the walls of the room, he could feel very little outside of this place. While he could wipe them away with hardly an effort, they must be there for his protection, to keep him hidden from the enemy until the time was right.

If he was meant to lead right now, he would be receiving discipline, hardening him, making him strong and ready. Instead he was in bed with this new master his father had given him too. He was obviously meant to pleasure his new master or his master would not be naked and in bed with him. He had pleasured no one but Azazel, it had always been forbidden, but this man owned him now. His father usually simply took him when he wanted him. This man seemed different, seemed to wait for Sam to act. Perhaps a test to see what his new slave would do?

With a light touch, he dragged his fingers down the man’s chest, glancing up at his master to ensure it was okay to be initiating contact. With no resistance, he leaned forward and fastened his mouth onto the man’s nipple, running his tongue around its quickly peaking nub.

* * *

Dean’s eyes watched the younger man intently when Sam stirred awake.

He saw the slight confusion in his brother’s eyes when they fluttered open, but he supposed that was to be expected. After what Sam had gone through, he certainly couldn’t blame the younger man if he didn’t know where he was. Sam had been barely coherent yesterday when Dean had guided the younger man into the house.

Sam’s soft smile and relaxed body language comforted him though. Even though Sam was confused he obviously wasn’t afraid, and that was good.

Dean ran his hand gently over Sam’s side when he felt the stirring of his brother’s powers. Reassuring the younger man that he was safe. Nothing would come for him. Nothing would harm him.

He wasn’t all that concerned that neither of them broke the peaceful silence of the morning. After all, they’d spent most of their lives communicating without words. Dean smiled and his breath hitched a little when Sam reached out to touch his chest. Emotion welling up in his throat, practically choking him.

He’d come so close to losing Sam… so close to never feeling the younger man’s touch ever again…

When Sam leaned in to kiss his chest, licking and playing with his nipple, Dean’s heart sped up. A soft groan of pleasure escaping his throat as his fingers found their way into his brother’s soft hair. Petting gently. His nipple wasn’t the only thing hardening due to Sam’s attentions and Dean couldn’t think of anything he wanted more right now than to touch and hold his brother, to love him, to make him his again.

“Sammy…” He whispered the younger man’s name, almost in awe, before tugging his brother up and kissing him gently. 

* * *

Sam was more than pleased when he elicited a groan from his ministrations. His new master was so gentle as he ran his fingers through his hair. He anticipated any moment that those fingers would wrap in his hair and pull his head back so his master could kiss him, but that never happened. The man's touch seemed so familiar, but how could that be? Only Azazel ever touched him in this way. He was ready to move to the other nipple when his master said his name in such a loving way it almost made his breath hitch. He knew it was wrong, but already he liked this man as his master much more than his father. His father had never been gentle that he could remember, but then, he didn't remember much of anything, so perhaps he was mistaken.

The older man pulled him up and into a kiss. He didn't ravage his mouth. It too was a gentle loving kiss. It was so…undemon like. Perhaps this was a reward, allowing him to relax a little before the war began? He welcomed the tongue into his mouth, letting his fingers play across the wet nipple he had been working on with his mouth. He wondered if his master preferred to fuck him doggie style or with him on his back. He wormed his way a little further under the man. He liked seeing the caring love in the man's eyes and hoped that perhaps he would prefer Sam on his back. He would like to see his master's face as his master came deep inside him. He wished he knew his master's name. Would his master like for him to say it, to scream it, as he fucked Sam? Or did he prefer 'Master' instead? He had so many questions but didn't want to ruin this or anger him.

He spread his legs so the man had free access if he wanted it. He could feel the beginning of the man's erection forming so he arched a little, rubbing against it, hoping that the action wasn't too bold.

 

* * *

Dean slowly made love to his brother’s mouth. Letting their tongues tangle together at one moment, exploring every inch of the other man’s mouth, only to draw back a moment later, barely brushing his lips across Sam’s in the softest caress.

He knew his desire for the younger man would burn hot and fast if he let it, but that wasn’t what Dean wanted. He didn’t want this to be a desperate rutting against each other. He didn’t want it to be anything like it had been in his cell, desperate, fast, and almost harsh, even though it was what they’d both needed at the time. He wanted to take his time. Memorize all over again every inch of his brother’s flesh. He wanted to kiss and lick all of Sam and make his brother moan and whimper beneath him. He wanted to fill the younger man up slowly, make love to him over and over, and never leave him in between.

He wanted it to be perfect. He was going to make it perfect for Sam.

Dean moaned into his brother’s mouth, pulling back to lick and nibble a little on Sam’s lips when the younger man’s fingers began playing with his already sensitive nipple. Dean returned the favor. Letting his hand slide slowly down the back of his brother’s back from his shoulders to his buttocks. Kneading the firm muscle gently as his head dipped to lap at and circle around one nipple with his tongue while his fingers lightly pinched and played with the other.

He moaned in pleasure when he felt Sam move against him and when he felt Sam shift a little onto his back and Dean moved with him without thought, giving Sam what he wanted. He let his body come to rest mostly on top of Sam as he settled himself between his brother’s legs. Letting his stomach rub teasingly against the younger man’s dick while he continued to work on his brother’s nipples. Shifting his mouth from one to the other and only once he was satisfied both had received equal amount of attention did he begin to kiss his way back up Sam’s body.

He licked a hot wet path up his brother’s throat and jaw, his mouth finally finding the younger man’s again with a moan as he rubbed his quickly hardening cock against Sam’s. Squeezing his brother’s ass again gently and rolling his hips. 

* * *

His father liked to hear him moan with the pleasure/pain he often caused him. Bringing him to the edge and leaving him unsatisfied. This man wasn't just having sex, he was making _love_ to Sam. Sam moaned softly as his master worked on his nipples and seemed to like Sam rubbing against him. The man wasted no time sliding between his legs and that made Sam smile. Maybe his new master would let Sam see his face as he came. His master was handsome and muscular and…well, he was human. Demon blood, but human, like himself. And for some reason, that seemed to make it even better.

The man's tongue was wonderful, licking at him and swirling over his flesh, tickling and tasting him like he was the best treat ever. He imagined that tongue on his cock and groaned. It would never happen of course. A typical master would never give a slave a blow job, well, unless it was to bring them up to the edge to leave them there. Sam decided that would be okay, just to have that skillful mouth on his dick for a little while.

When the man rubbed their cocks together, rolling his hips, Sam arched and moaned into his mouth. He ran his hands over his master's scarred flesh. He let his powers out just a little, running them over the man's back, hunting for any old scars that might be long healed but might have caused damage that the man had probably long since learned to ignore. He found a few places and knowing he was almost certainly being too bold, he wanted to give something special back to the man for the way he was making Sam feel. He let his powers ripple down his master's back, finding those old injuries and mending them, taking away the scars, smiling into the man's mouth as he felt smooth skin replace those couple scars. Even if he was disciplined for daring to do such a thing, the knowledge that his master would feel a little less pain and move a little more freely was something that he could hold to him. He imagined his master disciplining him, while at the same time bringing him to the edge. It would be exquisite.

He wanted to beg his master to fuck him, but it was not his place to ask. The fingers that kneaded his ass he wished would delve deep, would feel inside of him. What a precious gift this was!

The man finally gave him a moment to breathe and as Sam buried his face in the man's neck, he whispered, "I love you, Master."

* * *

Dean swallowed his brother’s moans eagerly, determined to pull more of the sweet perfect sounds from the younger man no matter what. He rubbed his cock a little more firmly against his brother’s stomach, Sam’s dick a hot brand of steel against his flesh, leaving hot wet trails along his flesh. So damned good, he wanted to wrap his lips around that firm column of flesh, suck Sam down and take all of his brother into his throat. He wanted to savor the taste of the younger man fucking his mouth and drink every drop of come that would spill from Sam down his throat.

His sinful imaginings were interrupted when he felt his brother’s fingers sliding over his back. Dean’s breath hitched a little when he felt the younger man’s power stir within him, felt it weaving around him like his own was wrapped around Sam. But then the younger man’s powers pushed deeper, into the flesh of his back.

Dean groaned softly when he felt it reach some of the old deeper wounds in his back. The wounds healed long ago, but some scars simply couldn’t be healed perfectly. If he moved a certain way, he would sometimes feel them, an old wound pulling in a way it shouldn’t, the muscles not working quite right anymore. He’d long ago learned to ignore such minor aches, so trivial he didn’t even remember them anymore. Now to feel the scarred flesh and muscle knitting itself back together as though it had never been injured…

Dean pulled back, panting a little for breath and looking down at Sam in no small amount of awe. Only to have his brother hide his face against his throat. He pet the younger man tenderly, running his hands up and down the length of Sam’s back, feeling all the new scars there and tears forming in his eyes as he realized he couldn’t remove them as Sam had so easily removed his. He could not make his brother’s body whole and untouched anymore.

Dean froze however when he heard his brother’s whisper against his throat. What? No… he hadn’t heard incorrectly. Sam had called him… Sam had called him that back when he had found him in that cell. After Sam had given him his soul. It was wrong then, and it was wrong now. He didn’t want Sam to call him that. Sam was _his_ master, he was not Sam’s…

“I’m not… Sam? Don’t you…?” Dean’s voice trailed off as a cold fear suddenly pooled in his stomach, the confusion in his brother’s eyes taking on a new sickening meaning. “Don’t you remember?”

* * *

He felt his Master freeze when he told him he loved him and his breath caught. His Master didn't want him speaking while they were having sex. He would be quiet then. He wouldn't say anything more. He didn't want the man to stop but he did. His foolishness had ruined it after all.

The confusion he heard in his master's voice made no sense to him.

Did he remember?

Sam slowly pulled back and looked into the man's eyes. They were sad, confused, and maybe even scared? He wanted the tender love back in them. He didn't want to say anything else, wishing that those wonderful hands were still roving over him, that the tongue was still tasting him. But his master asked him a question. He had to answer the question. Some of the runes burned deep under his skin, demanding obedience to his master.

"I don't remember much," Sam said slowly. "Father was training me, putting runes of protection on my body, had me heal the wounds after he put in spell components to strengthen the runes. Father told me later that I wouldn't remember much when I came to the Human world. I…remember I was angry and it hurt me that I wouldn't, but I don't know why. He told me I should have no distractions while leading his army. I would remember what he taught me and I would remember my service to him, but little else. I…don't remember giving him my soul. I don't remember him giving me to you, Master. Forgive me. I…don't feel the army. Where is the army I am supposed to lead against the Humans? Did I fail Father? Does he not want me to lead him army? Am I supposed to help you lead the army? Please, Master, tell me, how am I supposed to serve you and Father?"

If tears were permitted, he would weep for his failures. He wished there were chains visible so he could go to them and let his new master punish him for his mistakes and his failures. But his master was still on top of him and he didn't dare move.

* * *

Sam didn’t remember…

The younger man didn’t remember that they had killed Azazel. His brother didn’t remember who he was. Sam didn’t even remember himself!

How? Why? He didn’t understand. It didn’t make any sense. Sam had remembered him when Dean had first entered the dimension. His brother had reached out to him. Had healed him. Even when he had gone to Sam and his brother had attacked him, something in Sam had known who he was. Sam had known himself. He had seen it in his brother’s eyes. They had been confused, but nothing like this. Not like a blank slate.

Why would… Why would Azazel let Sam remember there but not here? It didn’t make any sense! Why would Azazel want a mindless puppet? Why would the demon put Sam through everything he had, just to erase him like a blank slate?

Sam didn’t know who he was… kept calling him _master_ … had spread his legs open for him and he didn’t even know who he was!

Equal amounts of disgust and anger flashed through him as he pushed himself away from Sam as though his brother had burned him. Standing up and backing away from the younger man though his eyes never left Sam.

“Don’t call me that!” Dean snapped before he could help himself, the anger and pain he was feeling making his power react without meaning to. It wasn’t often he lost control like this, but he was losing it now. The dark power practically sparking in the air and he quickly withdrew it from Sam as well, not wanting to harm the younger man. Guilt twisted like a knife in his stomach even as he did, though he didn’t know which was worse. That he couldn’t control his anger now, was probably frightening or confusing Sam even more, or the fact that he hadn’t noticed something was wrong with his brother before… and he’d almost…

Sam repeatedly calling the demon father was practically the straw that broke the camel’s back. Now he knew why Sam had lost control before, why his brother had become so angry, when he had called the demon father…

“He is not our father! He is gone! He is dead! You are not his!” Dean yelled. 

* * *

He had done something terrible. He didn't understand what he had done but the man who had been making love to him was now angry and disgusted with him. He felt the tears want to come, but he had been trained not cry. He was already going to be punished for telling his master he loved him. What were a few tears? When the man pushed away from him, but stared angrily at him still, Sam trembled just a little. What had he done? Servants were supposed to love their masters.

Master? He wasn't supposed to call him master? He felt the dark powers fill the room. Was this another test? Was he supposed to defend himself and prove he was worthy to lead the army? The comforting protection the man had wrapped him in was practically ripped away from him and he couldn't stop the one tear that ran down his face. He would welcome the punishment because he had obviously earned it.

At his master's outburst, Sam quickly pushed himself off the bed and fell to his knees in front of him. He just didn't understand. He could clearly sense his father's blood in his new master. Of course Azazel was their father.

Father was gone? No, his master must be mistaken. He tried to call to his father as he had been taught, but the runes on the walls blocked him. He could not sense his father and all the chains led to the man before him.

"I am yours," Sam said softly, bowing his head, but a distant voice echoed in his head and he frowned. I am yours. You are mine. Always. He flinched as he felt one of the runes on his chest flare. The voice in his head was gone. He tried to remember what it had said, what it had meant, but the rune had erased that distraction. "I have been well taught how to fight, how to lead, how to kill demon, human, and maybe even angels alike, but fath—Azazel," he corrected himself, "was not certain I was quite that strong. I will try if you wish me to. I will serve you until you no longer find me useful. I will lead your army skillfully and destroy any who defy you. But if I am not to call you master…then what do you wish me to call you? Or should I be silent when in your presence?"

* * *

Dean stared aghast at the younger man when Sam dropped to his knees in front of him. Calling himself his…

No…

“No!” Dean snarled almost viciously in answer. Sam was not his damn it! Dean was not the master! Sam was his…

But Sam was gone. His master, his brother, his lover, was gone. Azazel had destroyed him. The demon had taken away everything the younger man was, leaving only his body. Leaving only a… puppet… in Sam’s place. A puppet that thought Dean was his master…

Because of the chains he had on Sam’s soul… that Sam had given him…

Dean viciously cut the chains that bound them together. It felt like cutting himself in half, but he didn’t care. Dean turned away from the younger man and stumbled out of the room, blinded by tears of pain and rage he could no longer contain. He didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t care, as long as it was away from the… shell… of his brother. He could not look at Sam. He could not look into those eyes that did not know him anymore.

His misery and rage had nowhere to go, no outlet, Azazel was already dead. The only place it could turn was inward. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if it tore him apart at the seams, because he had failed Sam… again.

* * *

Sam waited for the retribution for whatever it was that he had done that had so offended his master. He was not prepared for the sudden release of his soul and he gasped and looked up. He had done something so horrible the man didn't want to be his master? Just because he had said he loved him? Or had he done something more?

He watched as his master left the room, tears streaming down his cheeks. His master was…crying? Tears were forbidden. They indicated weakness. The dark power rose inside his master but his master wasn't letting it go. It would destroy him!

"No!" Sam screamed and dashed after him. He caught his master in his arms. The man had loved him, even if only briefly before Sam had made such a grievous error. Wrapping his powers around the man he took the dark rage into himself, siphoning off its destructive energy. He cradled the man to his chest and pet his hair reassuringly.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay," Sam heard himself saying. His master was weak. Weakness should be destroyed, but he just couldn't do that. He mended the chains between them, rebinding his soul to the man. He nudged his way into the man's mind just enough to find what he needed. His master's name.

"It's okay, Dean."

He was not being what he had been taught to be, a killer, a destroyer, a servant, but all he could remember was the love he had seen in those green eyes. "I'll protect you. I won't let anything hurt you," Sam told him. He kissed Dean's head and held him close.

Pulling away just a little, he placed a finger under Dean's chin and made his master meet his eyes. "Please don't leave me. Please don't cast me aside and abandon me. I need you. The protective runes Azazel marked me with, they make me forget things, they burn them away but I know…I just know that you can guide me. You can help me do what ever it is that I am supposed to do. Please don't leave me."

* * *

Dean stumbled in the hallway, and that was when he felt Sam’s arms come around him. When he felt the younger man wrapping his own powers around him and forcing him to release the dangerous energy instead of letting it rip him apart as he deserved. Sam held him… Touched him… Soothed him…

Sam whispering his name, trying to comfort him, pulled another angry ragged sob from his throat… because it was all a lie. He had felt Sam in his mind. The same time he had felt Sam bind them together again against his will, but Dean simply didn’t have the will to fight anymore.

He had nothing left to fight _for_ anymore. He had nothing… everything had been taken away from him…

At least when he had served Azazel he’d had a purpose. He had defied his demon master to serve Sam, because he loved Sam. He had tried to protect Sam, he had tried to save Sam, he had tried… and he had failed again and again. He had thought… he had finally fulfilled his purpose. He had thought he had saved his brother. He had killed Azazel, he had freed Sam, he had brought his brother home safe…

He had thought…

Sam’s words meant to comfort were like a slow rusty blade carving him up from the inside out. He did not want to be protected. He wanted to hurt. He had failed… he had nothing… he deserved nothing. He should have let Sam simply kill him back in that cell… at least he would have died at his master’s hand. Sam… who remembered him…

Dean’s eyes met Sam’s when the younger man forced his chin up cold and impassive. His eyes narrowing slightly when Sam said Azazel’s name. The only name his brother remembered. The only thing his Sam remembered. Help him… when had Dean ever helped Sam? He had only ever failed Sam. Dad could help Sam. Bobby and Jim could help Sam. Dean had done enough damage…

Dean pulled away from the younger man’s touch again.

“Don’t touch me.” Dean whispered, barely more than a breath as he stood slowly. He looked away from Sam. “John Winchester is your father. Obey him.”

Dean told the younger man, glad that it wasn’t even a lie, and he walked away from Sam back into the bedroom. Picking up his clothes from the floor that were still stained with his own and Sam’s blood but he didn’t really care as he pulled them on. 

* * *

The cold eyes he stared into as he begged his master to take him back cut him deeper than he could imagine. His master didn't even want him to touch him. He felt his heart shatter and he didn't understand why and he couldn't stop the sudden sobs. He cast his thoughts back to when he had first woken, to the love they had been making. It wasn't that he had told his master he had loved him! It was because his master had accused him of not remembering! But his father had said he should not have distractions...but his master said his father was gone.

"Mas—Dean!" Sam said, rising to his feet and hurrying back into the room where his master dressed. He slid down to his knees before his master but rather than bowing his head, he looked up at him pleadingly. "You are angry with me because I can not remember? It is only in the Human world! Azazel said I would remember everything when ever I returned to him, when ever I left the Human world and reported back to him on the progress of the army. If you take me to your home, I will remember. I am sure I will and then you will not need to cast me aside. I will not be less than what you want me to be. Please, Dean! I do not understand but my soul says I belong to you always. Bound to you or not, my heart is yours. Always." The words came unbidden to his lips. "I am yours, you are mine, always."

His master told him not to touch him, but he could not restrain himself, even though he knew the punishment would be severe. He reached out and took Dean's hand, kissing it and then holding it next to his tear streaked cheek. "Please Dean. Please let me redeem myself to you. Please, take me to your home and it will be as it was."

With barely a thought he let the runes show, their dark writhing energy criss-crossing his flesh. "These protect me from distractions so I may fight and lead in the Human world, but in your home, they will be weak and I believe I can fight their power that keeps the evil distractions at bay. Please do not leave me without a master. I want none but you. I will renounce Azazel if you will take me and let me fight for you." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "If you will love me again."

* * *

Dean tried to ignore the man on his knees before him while he dressed. Sam… on his knees… pleading… and breaking him a little more with every word he spoke.

Yes, he was angry. No, he was not angry at Sam. How could he be? Sam was gone. No, he was angry at the demon who had taken his brother away from him and there was nowhere for that anger to go. Azazel was dead. Gone forever. The fact that Dean had killed the demon, had pulled the trigger only yesterday, did nothing to douse the burning hatred inside of him. He wished the demon were alive if only so he could kill him again. Much slower and far more painfully than the first time. Maybe then there would be somewhere for the anger to go, instead of curling into a black seething ball inside of him.

He was also angry at himself, perhaps even more angry than he was at the demon who had taken Sam away. Because if not for him, none of this would have happened to Sam. If only he had pleased Azazel more, been what the demon wanted, he never would have gone after Sam. His failures had destroyed Sam. He had failed to protect him, failed to save him, as he had promised…

Take him home? Where! Dean did not have a home! Back to the dimension where he had found Sam? He couldn’t! It was gone! Just like Sam was gone…

Dean nearly growled at the words the young man spoke. Did Sam steal those from his mind as well?

Then suddenly he could see them. The dark writing magic that Azazel had inscribed into the younger man’s very flesh! He finally had an outlet for seething black hatred inside of him. Dean pulled his hand away from Sam’s face. Hardening himself to the younger man’s tears and pleas. He still had the hex bag in his pocket that was meant to bind Sam’s powers. Dean didn’t hesitate using it now. He wasn’t going to even give Sam the chance to stop him.

Between one second and the next Dean had the hex bag around the younger man’s neck, was dragging Sam up by the throat, and throwing him down onto the bed. Dean’s own powers twined around the younger man and pinned him in place. A second later, Dean had a knife in his hand and he was straddling his brother’s hips.

Now that he knew where they were, Dean didn’t hesitate digging the blade deep into his brother’s flesh. His powers digging just as deep into the wound, pulling out what didn’t belong. He didn’t care how much Sam screamed. He didn’t care about Sam’s blood coating his hands and soaking into his clothes. He didn’t care about the men who were at the door, yelling at him to stop, demanding to know what the hell he was doing. He felt their hands on him, trying to pull him off of Sam, trying to take away the knife he was using. Dean tossed them aside easily and with little thought, using his powers to keep them back.

Even when he felt the first gun shot in his shoulder he didn’t stop, he merely ignored the pain. The second shot was not so easy to ignore. The third the knife finally slipped from Dean’s hand, tasting his own blood in his mouth along with Sam’s as he fell off the young man. 

* * *

His master yanked his hand free of his and Sam felt all hope wither inside him. He bowed his head. It was no use. He would be masterless. He would serve this "John Winchester" his master had ordered him to obey. He was startled when his master dropped a hex bag around his neck. He felt the immediate binding of his powers and gasped. His master would even take that away from him?

The man had him by the the throat and threw him onto the bed. He could feel his master's powers wrap around him, but they were not the gentle protective caresses from before, they were chains, pinning him and he had no powers to fight back, not that he would. He had dared to touch his master after being ordered not to, he had bound his soul back to the man when the man clearly didn't want him. He had shed tears. He had begged. It was his due punishment. He would not have fought.

Dean was on top of him, a knife in his hand. The blade bit deeply, carving along one of the many runes. He felt Dean's powers reaching in, finding every bit of components he had been forced to heal in place. The first few runes his master cut at he managed to strangle his screams. But as his master disciplined him, it finally became too much and he screamed with each new cut, with the way the black power raped the wound, sweeping away anything inside. His master was taking away the protective runes as well. He was going to punish him and leave him defenseless. But that was his master's right. He felt the seething hatred Dean had for him and wondered if he would even be left alive to serve John Winchester.

The shouts of familiar voices at the door barely penetrated Sam's consciousness as Dean tore into his flesh viciously. His master was attacked and he reacted, only to find himself impotent, unable to use his powers to protect the man. He deserved this discipline. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind. Why were the others trying to stop him? His master shrugged the men off easily as he buried the knife again in Sam's flesh.

Even through his own agony, he felt the echoed pain as the first bullet penetrated his master, and then the second. Dean stopped cleansing him of the runes with the third and final shot.

Sam lay panting, a little light headed, trying to sort through the mangled memories in his brain. The runes still tried to erase them but near a third had been broken and destroyed. He focused his eyes on his friends, and on his father—his dad—who still wielded the black 9 mm, tears streaming down his face. Dean lay beside him, weakly coughing up blood, barely conscious.

With his powers he reached out to heal Dean, only to find his powers still bound. Realizing a hex bag hung around his neck, Sam demanded, "Get this damned thing off me!"

"Sammy," John said, choking on his words. "I didn't have a choice."

"Get this off me!" Sam screamed, tugging ineffectively at the cord of the bag.

Bobby stepped forward, whispered a few simple words, and lifted the bag from Sam's neck. Sam immediately reached out with his powers, healing his brother's injuries, extracting the bullets that hadn't passed through Dean's body. He struggled and finally succeeded in pulling Dean into his lap, even as his own blood poured in streams down his chest. As soon as he heard Dean's labored breathing ease, he healed himself.

"Sam," John said, leveling the gun on Dean, "he was killing you!"

Sam shook his head emphatically. He fought to put his thoughts into understandable sentences. "No. You can't see them. Runes, spell components cut into me. Dean was trying to remove them. Anesthesia," Sam said with a weak smile. "Teach him about anesthesia."

He looked up at the three. "My memory, spotty. The runes take everything away." He shook his head a little. "You're…Dad," Sam said to his father. He cast his gaze on the other two and struggled for a minute and huffed, finally shrugging helplessly. "I know you're friends but, no names. Don't know names. Father, Azazel made the runes. I lead his army. No memory. Kill whatever got in my way. Return to him, remember everything. Until I go out again."

Feeling some of the runes on his back flare, confusion filled his eyes again. "My master needs tending. He needs water. Please bring him some water," he asked of the three. Looking down at the man he cradled in his arms he smiled when his master opened his eyes. Only the servant looked at his master for a moment, then part of _Sam_ made it through and he ran his fingers through Dean's blood soaked hair. "I'm better. Still broken. My head, I'm still," he furrowed his brow as more memories burbled up through the ragged netting that tried to seal them away, "confused. You're Dean. My brother. Memories come. Stolen away. Try to come back. But it's working."

He leaned down and kissed his brother. When he broke the tender kiss he gave Dean a mild glare. "I've been your master. Suck it up. Be mine until I'm better. Need that. Need you."

* * *

Dean’s anger finally bled away with his own blood, leaving him feeling cold and empty in a way that had very little to do with the bullet wounds in his chest, his life draining out of them. Well, to be fair, the first had only passed through his shoulder and the second through his side. It was the third that had passed through his right lung when the other two less fatal shots had failed to stop him.

As the anger drained away he was able to think more clearly again, at the same time the pain and blood loss made it difficult to think. It was a strange combination. He hadn’t… lost control… like that in a long time. Azazel had taught him how to use his anger to make him stronger, but the demon had also taught him how to never lose control of it. Dean knew well how destructive it could be. But he had forgotten… no… he hadn’t cared. It was easy not to care when you had nothing…

Sam… He hadn’t wanted to harm Sam… but he knew he had… He knew not all the blood covering him was his. A lot of it was Sam’s. He’d cut the younger man, made him scream… Dean had made his brother scream like Azazel had made Sam scream. How could he? How could he have hurt Sam like that? He felt sick… he wanted to vomit… he might have if he’d had the strength to.

Instead Dean coughed, choking more on his blood or his guilt he wasn’t sure. He knew there were tears in his eyes. He didn’t try to stop them. He heard Sam’s voice, Sam shouting… at least his brother wasn’t screaming. He thought he heard Dad’s voice as well. Dad had shot him… he wasn’t angry at the older man. He was glad that Dad had stopped him from hurting Sam.

He felt Sam’s powers wrapping around him… someone must have taken off the hex bag… Dean groaned softly as he felt his brother’s energy pushing deep into him. Much like he had done to Sam but far gentler. It still hurt though as Sam pulled the bullets out. Dean didn’t care about the pain though. He groaned again when he felt himself being moved, even as the pain began to fade to a dull ache as the wounds were healed.

Why was Sam healing him? After what he’d done…

Dean finally forced his eyes open. He didn’t even remember when he’d closed them. He managed to focus on Sam’s face, his brother’s eyes… his _brother_. _Sam_. Dean felt his throat beginning to close up with emotion on him again, he felt the tears in his eyes again, but he didn’t care. A broken sob finally worked its way out of his throat when Sam kissed him softly.

Dean managed to turn, to wrap his arms around the younger man tightly. Certainly not giving a fuck that they were both filthy, covered in blood, or that Sam’s friends and _father_ were watching. Dean kissed the younger man hard. Petting his fingers through Sam’s hair, whispering against his brother’s lips between kisses. “I’m sorry… love you… Sammy… my Sammy…”

* * *

The tight hug wasn't unexpected and the intense kiss was welcome. He gave a small sigh at feeling Dean's fingers comb through his hair as he held Dean just as tightly. Smiling at Dean's words, he didn't try to stop him from the incessant, loving kisses.

John cleared his throat, reminding his sons that he was there. It seemed his last weeks had been one upheaval after another. The angel had been right that his sons were…lovers. Heaven approved, more or less apparently, but he knew it was going to take time for him to wrap his brain around it and get anywhere close to being comfortable with it, if he ever actually would get comfortable with it.

"Sam, Dean," John said, "C'mon. You two need to get washed up. You've both lost blood and been through a lot. You need to eat, and we need to get these sheets changed out and the blood cleaned up."

Sam glanced up at his father while in mid-kiss and tapped Dean's back with his hand and pulled away a little. He couldn't stop the small blush that colored his cheeks.

"Dad's right. I'm not going anywhere. Maybe my memories will, but you'll fix that."

Sam realized abruptly that he was naked. The past weeks he had always been naked but he was home now. His Dad and…Bobby and…Jim were there. He grabbed the blood soaked bedspread, blushing more profusely now, and began pulling the cloth toward him, even though Dean's body was covering his groin.

Almost as soon as he remembered his friends' names, the runes fought to erase them and the names slipped away. He blinked and looked into Dean's eyes, his brow furrowing. He held his master. They had been kissing. It was all mixed up in his head but the older man said they should clean up. The older man was John Winchester, his jumbled memories identified. He was to obey John Winchester. But he also knew Dean had forgiven him and was repairing his memories. Because of that, his master was willing to take him back. He wondered if that meant he was still supposed to obey John Winchester. Since he didn't want to risk upsetting his master again, he decided until Dean told him otherwise, he would.

He helped his master to his feet. No one had gotten his master the water he asked for. His powers shifted restlessly, wanted to strike them for not bringing the water, but he didn't. If he was to obey John Winchester, then John Winchester was of higher rank and worthy of a servant. It had not been his place to ask for water but it still rankled him.

"Where can I do as you ask? Wash up?" Sam asked.

John saw that Sam was lost again. Dean could remove this spellwork, but there had to be a better way than carving his younger brother up to do it. And since John couldn't see the runes, he had no idea how many more had to be removed.

"The bathroom's up the hall. It has a shower in it. We'll get you both some clean clothes and get lunch ready for you," John said. "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't know what you were doing but why don't we come up with a less painful way to get these runes removed? We can numb different areas of Sam's body with anesthesia and hopefully it won't hurt Sam while you do whatever you have to do, and I guess, well I guess he can heal up the injuries before the anesthesia even wears off. I," John swallowed hard, "I don't want to hear either of you screaming in pain again anytime soon."

Motioning for the two to follow him, he led his sons down to the bathroom. Sam wrapped his arm around Dean's waist protectively as they walked down the hall.

"You should have everything you need in here," the father said, waving them in. "I'll have some clean clothes in here in just a minute."

Sam looked at John and tilted his head. "Thanks…Dad," Sam said, his eyes clearing a little.

After John gave a curt nod and shut the door, Sam immediately turned to Dean and wrapped his arms around him, pulled him close, and covering Dean's mouth with his own, he pushed his tongue in. He could still taste the blood but he didn't care.

* * *

Dean certainly didn’t appreciate the older man’s interruption of him kissing his brother. Unfortunately John Winchester was right. They were both covered in blood and weak. He needed to take care of Sam, and kissing the younger man breathless wasn’t what his brother needed right now. Sam needed him to take care of him. Sam needed him to be the master… at least for a little while. He would do it for Sam, because the younger man had asked him to. Until his brother was better, he would be the master.

So, tasting the younger man’s lips softly one last time he let his brother draw away, nodding at Sam’s words. Yes, they would fix it. He would make Sam better.

He saw when his brother began to slip away again, but even though it made his heart ache, and he felt another spark of anger for the demon who’d done this to Sam, it didn’t ignite the all consuming rage as it had before. Dean still felt intense guilt over what he had done. How he had lost control. How he had hurt Sam.

When his brother helped him up and their Dad apologized to him… for shooting him… Dean said nothing. The older man really had no reason to apologize to him. He couldn’t possibly have known what Dean was doing. Dean himself hadn’t really known what he was doing. Driven completely by rage, despair, and desperation. He shouldn’t have done that to Sam…

Dean merely nodded a little, acknowledging the older man’s words. Yes, they would have to find another way. A way that would not hurt Sam.

He almost protested Sam’s help to the bathroom, but he was a little shocked to find how much he actually needed it. He must have lost a lot more blood than he thought. Not to mention the expenditure of power they’d both made. They were not even fully recovered from battling Azazel yesterday. Sam must be feeling just as weak as he was, maybe even more, because of all the energy he must have spent healing them both. Yet Sam did not show it.

Once they were in the bathroom and Sam pulled him even closer, Dean did not hesitate going into his brother’s arms and kissing the younger man again for all he was worth. Once more wrapping his powers gently and protectively around his brother as their tongues twined together, caressing Sam tenderly with his hands as well as his powers, a silent apology for his roughness earlier.

The blood was beginning to dry sticky on their skin however, and while on one level he didn’t care, Dean knew they would both be more comfortable once it was washed off. Besides, Sam had very much enjoyed touching and kissing him in the shower before, they could just as easily continue there.

So Dean reluctantly pulled away from Sam, giving the younger man a reassuring smile and guiding Sam towards the tub. He adjusted it to a comfortable temperature and helped Sam inside. Not bothering to take his clothes off first because that would only make a bigger mess. Dean pulled the shower curtain shut, locking them away from the world, and then finally stripped off his blood soaked shirt. Dean pulled Sam back into his arms, and guided the younger man beneath the spray, noting how most of the blood was already being washed down the drain.

Dean smiled as he ran his fingers through Sam’s wet hair, helping the water rinse away the blood.

“I love you…” He whispered, guiding the younger man back into a kiss. Tasting more of Sam and less copper this time between them and Dean moaned softly in approval. 

* * *

Sam felt the warm embrace of Dean's powers as readily as the strong arms that wrapped around him. Kissing Dean simply gave him a warm spot in his heart and he felt safe in those arms. The agony of the knife cutting into him, the rake of the dark powers in those wounds were still sharp, even in his confused mind, but Dean had done nothing worse that what Azazel had done to him and a part of him still considered it just punishment. Another part of his mind acknowledged Dean had done it to help him. In either case, he could tell Dean regretted the pain he had to cause Sam. Admittedly, Sam was not looking forward to the future sessions that it would take to fix him. Could they have a more fucked up family right now?

Sam wasn't particularly happy when Dean pulled away from him, but Dean's smile and the look in his eyes consoled Sam. He could feel himself slipping again and struggled to hold on, but he was so damned tired.

"Hard to stay with it. Tired," Sam said softly to Dean and then grinned, "but I'll remember 'Master.' So make sure we have fun."

He stopped fighting the spell and let his memories drift away.

Accepting Dean's help into the shower, he was glad when his master followed him in. The water immediately ran red with their blood as the spray cascaded over them. He was very pleased when Dean pulled off his shirt, revealing his muscular chest. His master had forgiven him and the love in those green eyes were back. He didn't think he could feel greater joy. He enjoyed the feel of his master's, no he was not to call him that, Dean's fingers running through his hair.

When the man told him he loved him, he smiled adoringly at Dean. That love was easily felt it in the gentle caress of the powers protecting him, in the soft touch of those hands, in the taste of his master's lips. He liked the Human world where there were soft beds and hot water and a master who loved him. He liked too, that he had no distractions, no worries. Remembering that his father was dead gave him a strange little empty spot in his heart, there was a larger part of him that was happy, knowing that no one would ever discipline him again except for Dean. He did not have to lead an army, he did not have to kill. Killing wasn't something he mined. He liked absorbing the life out of the living, but he liked just as much, if not more, simply basking in his master's presence and love. He had no one to answer to but Dean and that was wonderful beyond wonderful.

He responded to Dean's moan with his own, wrapping his arms around him and feeling the slick skin between them. He rubbed himself against Dean, wishing the man would finish disrobing and remove his pants. He contented himself with running his hands all over his master's back and running his fingers along the waistband teasingly. He decided he would not ask anything but rather let his master lead him to whatever his master wanted. He did not every want to see the fury take of in his master's eyes or feel the rage and the discipline of his master's knife. He simply wanted to love and serve him.

* * *

Have fun? Dean hadn’t been sure if Sam were serious or joking. But he supposed he felt relieved that the younger man was taking this so “well”.

Dean didn’t find it particularly amusing, what Azazel had done to his brother, making his brother forget him… everything… But there wasn’t much they could do about it now. At least, nothing he could do that wouldn’t cause his brother pain, and Dean refused to cause that kind of agony to Sam again. Sam had endured enough pain. Having “fun” sounded like a much better option right now.

So, Dean would do as Sam asked. He would pretend to be the master, and he would make sure they had “fun”. The way his brother kissed him, running his fingers along the waist band of Dean’s wet jeans, he had little doubt what that “fun” would entail.

Dean’s dick, already hardening again as he pressed and rocked his hips against the younger man, was in perfect agreement.

But instead of pushing forward, Dean ended their kiss gently. Drawing back and caressing Sam’s face with his fingertips, smiling tenderly at the younger man, and ignoring his body’s needs for now. He was going to take care of Sam first. That was his main duty, whether he was the master or the slave.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Dean said as he reached for the bottle of shampoo and squeezed a good amount into his hand. Drawing Sam out from underneath the spray just enough so he could run his fingers through the younger man’s hair and lather without having the water immediately wash away all the suds.

Guiding Sam back under the water he gently tilted the younger man’s head back and rinsed away the shampoo. Satisfied as he ran his fingers through the clean hair, he reached for the bar of soap next. Not bothering with a washrag, he used his hands. Running his hands over Sam’s shoulders and down his chest, cleaning away the blood and grime of his brother’s captivity. Dean wished he could so easily remove the new scars his fingers ran over, and mourned that he did not have the healing power that Sam did to even try.

“Turn around.” He told the younger man, guiding Sam around so he could wash his brother’s back next. Dean washed all the way down from the younger man’s shoulders to his buttocks. Though his fingers lingered a little longer on Sam’s ass cheeks, slipping between them to soap around his brother’s entrance with a soft moan. But as much as he wanted to slide his soapy fingers into the younger man’s body, he forced himself to wait. Kneeling down behind Sam as he began washing down the younger man’s legs. 

* * *

Sam could feel his master's arousal and was surprised when Dean broke their kiss. That Dean wanted him clean first made perfect sense and he certainly had no idea when he had last bathed. The man's gentle hands washing his hair and rubbing over him, scrubbing away the blood and grime of what might have been days felt wonderful. He noticed how those callused fingers lingered occasionally over a scar. Azazel had given those to him he thought, but perhaps his master had given him some, and those were the ones he was pausing and admiring.

When Dean's finger teased his hole he moaned softly, more than ready for his master to finger him or fuck him. He readied himself for that entrance when instead Dean continued to wash him. He saw his master kneeling and shifted subtly so that if Dean wanted, his hole was ready and within easy reach. He leaned forward ever so slightly in offering. His own cock was growing heavier with each touch of Dean's hands and if he hadn't known he would be punished for it, he would readily be stroking himself.

He eyed his handsome new owner. Blood was still in his hair and he wondered if he should offer to wash Dean. Of course if he got to, he would spend some extra time on Dean's cock. He wished again his master would finish disrobing so he could see that throbbing member, touch it, take it into his mouth and suck and work it until Dean came so very hard he would never want another servicing him. He would give his master the absolute best head ever.

"Would you like me to wash you?" Sam asked hesitantly.

 

* * *

Dean looked up at Sam from where he knelt behind the younger man and couldn’t contain a groan at the sight that his brother made. Of course he’d noticed how his attentions were affecting Sam, how his brother’s cock was filling with his every touch along Sam’s skin. Of course he’d noticed how his brother had shifted, parting his legs and leaning forward in blatant offering. Giving Dean a perfect view of his ass, cock, and tight willing hole. So damned beautiful…

But Dean had ignored how Sam’s subtle seductions had been affecting him, instead concentrating on taking care of Sam, getting him clean. He couldn’t ignore them now though not when his cock reacted to the perfect picture of submissiveness, eagerness, and longing on Sam’s face and in every line of his body. Dean was so damned hard now his tight wet jeans were painfully constricting.

Wash him? Yes, Sam had liked that the first time they’d showered together. Dean nodded and stood, groaning again this time in more discomfort than pleasure. Yes, the jeans had to go.

Instead of reaching down to unbutton and push them down, he found himself reaching for Sam instead. Turning the younger man around again and pulling Sam against his chest, he kissed his brother again. Running his hands possessively over the younger man’s fresh clean skin and moaning a little in Sam’s mouth. So good… so perfect…

* * *

Sam was a bit confused by his master's actions. Dean obviously wanted him. He then confirmed he would like Sam to wash him, but before Sam could, Dean pulled him so tightly against him, kissing him, and his hands were everywhere, practically making Sam shiver in delight. Still, he should do as his master said.

He slowly turned them so Dean was under the water. Red tinged water cascaded over the man's shoulder as blood was rinsed from his hair. He couldn't help returning Dean's moan into his mouth. It was so wonderful to feel Dean's love for him.

Reaching out almost blindly he laid hands on the shampoo and even as their tongues continued to twine and tangle he poured some shampoo into Dean's hair. He lathered the man's hair, carrying the suds down Dean's shoulders and across his back. He ran his hands up and down Dean's back as the shower water rinsed Dean's hair clean. Running his fingers through the shortly cropped hair, he ensured the last of the soap was washed away.

His master's needs were apparent and the tight wet pants were surely uncomfortable. With great trepidation and being more than prepared to be admonished for his actions, he reached between them and undid the button and opened the zipper. He pushed down the waistband, freeing Dean's firmness and moaned louder as he felt it, flesh against flesh. Using the bar of soap, he lathered up his hands and ran them over Dean's back and now deeper, massaging the man's cheeks, running a soapy hand between the crack as he slid the pants down further.

As soon as Dean paused in their kiss to take a breath, Sam took that opportunity to begin to kiss his master's neck, washing each area before he reached it. He ran his hands along Dean's muscular chest, groaning with every touch of that wonderful skin. Expertly he toyed with the man's nipples, using one free hand to twist and pinch the one his mouth was not on, while the other dove down to Dean's abdomen and then he took the hard cock in his soap-slick hand, rubbing and stroking.

* * *

Dean went willingly wherever Sam wanted to guide him. Moaning a little in pleasure at the feeling of the warm water running over his hair and skin, though he certainly enjoyed the feel of his brother’s hands even more. He loved kissing Sam while the younger man worked. Twining his tongue with his brother’s while Sam massaged his fingers into his scalp was heavenly. Everywhere Sam touched him his skin felt even more sensitized, and he couldn’t stop his pleasured moans from spilling into his brother’s mouth. He didn’t even try to.

When he felt the younger man’s hesitation when Sam’s hands reached for button on his jeans, he ran his palms soothingly up and down his brother’s back. Encouraging his brother without words and groaning in obvious relief when he was finally freed of the constricting wet material. Not really caring that the wet jeans clung stubbornly around his thighs, only caring about Sam’s hands squeezing his ass, his fingers playing between his cheeks. Dean moaned again, thrusting his hips forward a little and rubbing his stiff erection against the warm wet skin of his brother’s thigh.

He almost hated to break their kiss, even though they were both panting hard by then. Needing air, but he still felt he needed Sam more. His fingers tangled in the younger man’s soft wet hair as Sam kissed and sucked on his throat. His other hand sliding possessively up and down Sam’s back, moving all the way down to squeeze his brother’s perfect ass, pulling Sam against him.

His breath hitched a little when Sam’s mouth and hands moved down to play with his nipples. Sam’s free hand curling around and stroking his aching member was almost too much. His fingers clenching in his brother’s hair as he cried out in pleasure, holding Sam to him as he thrust into the younger man’s palm.

“Sammy… so good…” Dean praised, knowing how much his master’s praise had always meant to him. Knowing how much pleasure he took just from pleasing Sam. 

* * *

Sam's own heart jumped that much faster at hearing his master's words. He was doing well, he was pleasing Dean. That encouraged him to be more aggressive, biting and sucking Dean's nipples as he stroked his cock. Wanting to keep his master pleased, he began working lower with his mouth and his hand that had been at the man's nipples he slid around Dean's back. Freshening the slickness of his fingers with some soap, he slid his middle finger down Dean's crack, toying with the tight puckered flesh of his master's hole, rubbing and pressing as his tongue played in the man's belly button and his hand gave firm slow strokes to the hard member his mouth watered at the thought of being on.

When he just couldn't stand it any longer he went to his knees and using both hands slid the wet jeans down those firm muscular legs. He took Dean's hard cock deep in his throat, tightening his throat and relaxing it alternately as he moaned, beginning to bob his head. He pushed his middle finger inside Dean's hole, pushing past the ring of muscle and finding that spot he knew would make his master groan in pleasure. Feeling his master relax his sphincter he pushed in a second finger, slowly finger fucking him while he pulled back from Dean's cock so he could swirl his tongue around the sensitive crown and then play in his slit, lapping up the delicious precome before swirling his tongue around again and then taking him deep. The sounds his master made sent more blood to his cock and were he not so well trained, he would be stroking himself, but he wanted to focus everything on Dean. He wanted to give Dean the absolute best he possibly could and that meant ignoring his own needs. He dug his fingers into Dean's hip, helping to keep control of Dean's thrusts into his mouth.

He worked teasingly front and back, keeping it as long and drawn out as he possibly could, giving him everything he had, caressing Dean with his own powers, using his powers to caress Dean's balls, to make his two fingers feel larger and driving deeper than they in fact could. Only after his master's sounds of pleasure were reaching loud exquisite peaks of moans did he finally release Dean's hip and open his throat in full invitation.

* * *

Dean’s breath hitched and he groaned louder as Sam began to suckle and bite his nipples harder. The slight pain only making the pleasure more intense as his brother stroked his cock harder, making his already weeping dick leak profusely with precome. As he watched Sam pleasuring him and he felt he could come just from the pleasure Sam seemed to be taking from doing this. He looked so beautiful. So content and so needy at the same time. So desperately wanting to please him… as much as he wanted to please Sam.

His fingers pet gently through the younger man’s wet hair, encouraging without guiding too much. Dean wanted to see what Sam would do on his own, and he was not disappointed. Moaning deeply at the finger toying over his sensitive hole as Sam continued to lick his way down his chest and stomach. His nipples hard and aching now, begging for more attention even as the water running down his chest over them was almost more than he could bear.

God, what Sam could do to him…

When his brother finally fell to his knees, yanking down his wet clinging jeans completely, Dean did his best to help the younger man. Kicking away the constricting material and standing with his legs parted, giving his brother access to every part of him. Sam’s mouth engulfing his cock in slick wet heat made him moan and buck before he locked his muscles to stop himself. Letting Sam set the pace. Letting his brother pleasure him. Knowing it was what the younger man wanted, needed, most.

“So good, Sam… so good…” Dean continued to murmur soft praises between his moans of pleasure. Letting his brother know just how much he was affecting him as if his rock hard cock down his throat wasn’t enough. Dean groaned louder, forcing himself to relax to take in the fingers that penetrated him, his knees trembling a little as the pleasure became almost too much. The duel sensations of Sam sucking him off and playing inside of him bringing him to the very edge. His hips started to move of their own accord, fucking between Sam’s perfect lips and then back onto those exquisite fingers, even though he still tried to hold back as much as he could.

Dean remembered the first time Sam had sucked his cock. It was sloppy and inexperienced, and so damned good… His brother was far from inexperienced now, he knew why, and Dean felt tears of pain and anger stinging his eyes before he could stop them. Thankfully the water washed them away before Sam could see them. He didn’t want Sam to think he was angry at him or disliked what he was doing. He loved it… he just hated the way Sam had obviously learned it… He wished he could have been the one to teach Sam, he wished he was still the only one to ever touch Sam inside, he wished his cock was the only one Sam had ever tasted…

It didn’t make Dean want or love Sam any less, but that knowledge had been… special to him. He would never have that back. Another thing that Azazel had taken from him, taken from them…

Dean forced himself to let go of the painful thoughts and focus only on the pleasure. Moaning louder than ever as Sam expertly drove him insane with every deep touch inside him, every lick and suck, Sam’s powers caressing every sensitive spot on his body. When he felt Sam’s throat relax Dean couldn’t help cupping the back of his brother’s head, holding the younger man in place as he started to fuck Sam’s mouth in earnest. It didn’t take long after that, and soon his balls were drawing tight and he was coming down his brother’s throat with a loud shout. Yelling Sam’s name and not giving a damned who heard him. 

* * *

The praise was so encouraging it only made him want this more. As soon as he felt Dean's hand go to the back of his head, he tightened his muscles and held himself steady. He kept his fingers inside his master's hole, stroking that special spot every time Dean pushed back. The man's pace increased and Sam took him deep. He felt the shift in his master's muscles and he readied himself. Greedily he swallowed it all down, refusing to let even a drop escape. He didn't want beaten for being so careless as to let any of his master's seed touch the ground.

Hearing Dean shout his name was almost too much too bear, his own cock begging to let loose, but he wouldn't, he couldn't, not until he was given permission. He continued to work on Dean's cock, licking and sucking until the hard member had begun to soften and until nothing was left for Sam to pull out. He finally extracted his fingers slowly from the man's hole. He looked up adoringly at his master then hugged Dean to his chest, resting his cheek against the solid muscle of Dean's abdomen. It was wonderful. He had never liked the way father had forced him, had beat him if he made the slightest of errors when pleasuring him. A part of him even seemed to loathe it, which he didn't really understand, but he didn't think too hard on it. It didn't matter. He was Dean's now and he wanted to stay Dean's forever. He picked up the soap and began washing Dean's legs as he had not gotten that far previously. He wanted to make certain his master was satisfied with everything he did.

Upon rinsing the last of the soap free of Dean's skin, Sam stood, ignoring his own need, his own erection still stiff and small drops of precome forming and rolling down his cock.

"Should I dry you and help you dress, Dean?" the young man asked, obviously anxious to please and trying hard to hide how happy he was at having brought such pleasure to his master.

* * *

Dean continued to groan obscenely as Sam sucked him dry. Making sure that the younger man knew exactly how fucking good it felt. He continued to push languidly into his brother’s mouth until his dick started to soften and Sam finally let him go and slid his fingers out of his ass. The look on his brother’s face when Sam looked up at him and hugged him tightly, pressing his cheek against his stomach, made Dean’s breath catch and he began to softly pet the younger man’s hair again. Murmuring words of love and praise he knew that his brother needed to hear.

“So good, Sammy. That was so good. Love you so much…” Dean whispered as Sam finished soaping him up and rinsing him off. He smiled at the younger man when his brother finally stood up, though when he noticed that Sam was still so hard his cock was weeping confusion crossed Dean’s face for a moment before he realized… and wanted to kick himself for being a moron.

He hadn’t given Sam “permission” to come. It had never really been an… issue… between him and Sam before. Because he knew how much Sam liked it when he came, but one of Azazel’s favorite games had been to work him up into a state and either leave him unsatisfied or force him to come without permission and then punish him. Dean should have known, but he hadn’t thought of it, and he found himself wanting to shed tears again but he wouldn’t. He would deal with this. He would take care of Sam. Sam needed him.

Dean shook his head slightly at Sam’s question, pulling the younger man against him once more.

“Not yet.” He said softly before kissing Sam gently, making love to his brother’s mouth as he slid his hands slowly down the younger man’s back to cup his ass. Turning them both and pressing Sam up against one of the shower walls, before finally breaking the kiss and smiling tenderly at the younger man.

“First I’m going to make you come.” He whispered, kissing Sam again softly ,but briefly. Working his way down the younger man’s throat to his chest. Pressing soft kisses into his brother’s skin between his words. “I love it when you come.”

Dean licked at one of the younger man’s nipples gently, sucking on one and then the other. Loving how hard and sensitive they were already, but he wasn’t going to tease Sam. His brother had waited long enough already. So he didn’t linger there long, kissing his way down Sam’s stomach as he went to his knees, and looked up at the younger man with another fond smile.

“I want you to come whenever you want when you’re with me.” Dean said before he took the younger man’s cock into his mouth, swallowing down the entire thick hot length, and moaning. 

* * *

Sam was so proud of how he had done so far, but his breath caught just a little when he saw confusion flicker across his master's face. What had he missed? His master had seen his hard erection. No matter what, he just didn't think he could pleasure his master without getting hard himself. But he would try. He was almost ready to fall back to his knees and beg forgiveness and promise it would never happen again when the man denied that he wanted Sam to dry him off. He had screwed up. His master would need to punish him and then maybe he would let him try again, and this time he would…

And his master was kissing him. Kissing him like he had before everything had gone so wrong in the bed. Sam couldn't help the moan. Such a loving and wonderful kiss. He let his master lead him until his back was against the wall. He was breathless by the time Dean ended that kiss and then gave him such smile as to make his heart want to burst.

Wanted him to come? So quickly? His master was ready to go again so quickly? Dean was going to fuck him and stroke him until he came? Or maybe punish him and then bring him off at the height of pain? Azazel had always loved making him come, too, and he furrowed his brow just a moment. It had always…disgusted him…the way his father had done it. But he loved it when Azazel…he was so damned confused.

Dean's lips on his chest, his hot breath whispering over his skin was heavenly and he didn't care that he was confused. He liked what Dean was doing. When his master licked at his nipples he tried not to arch, tried not to moan, but it felt so good, and it took every ounce of control not to just come then, he was already on the razor's edge of it.

To come whenever he wanted?

"But I want to come when you want me to come, Dean," Sam said breathlessly, more confused than ever now, but when his master's mouth slid over his weeping cock, his knees nearly gave. Dean must be trying to get himself hard again so he could fuck him. But he could come whenever…?

Practically all thought left him when Dean began working on his need. The way Dean's tongue caressed him while he was inside that precious mouth, the way Dean pulled off enough to tease his slit and then swallowed him back down. He tried so hard to keep his hips still and he knew he would be punished for it, but he just couldn't stop himself from beginning to fuck into his master's mouth. His groans were loud as he fucked harder and his master didn't stop him, his master seemed to encourage him, and even seemed to like it. Dean was nothing like Azazel. Nothing. His love for Dean deepened to a level he thought was impossible, but he was Dean's. Utterly and completely. He hoped his master truly wanted him to come in his mouth because he wasn't even able to string a warning together when he felt his long denied need finally release. His master's name was a shout from his lips as he came so hard into Dean's mouth and he came again and again and again.

* * *

Sam’s words… echoing so closely to what he had told Sam once before, wanting what he wanted, made his heart ache. But it did not distract Dean from his goal. Namely, to give the younger man the most pleasure he possibly could. Wishing, foolishly perhaps, that if he gave Sam enough pleasure and love it might make the younger man forget all the pain he had suffered. It was a foolish wish perhaps, but Dean wished for it all the same.

It was so good. Having Sam’s hard cock in his mouth again. Dean moaned in pleasure and encouragement, squeezing the younger man’s luscious ass as he bobbed his head. Licking down the length of Sam’s flesh and then sucking and playing with the head. Encouraging his brother to fuck into his mouth, down his throat. Moaning around Sam again and again whenever the younger man thrust deeply, swallowing around him.

He felt Sam tense, knew his brother was already on the edge, and Dean pushed him over without mercy. Groaning when he felt the first hot splash of semen down his throat, swallowing every drop that pulsed from that precious cock in his mouth. His fingers tightening on Sam’s hips, steadying the younger man when his brother seemed to go a little weak kneed from the pleasure.

Just as Sam had done for him, he didn’t release the younger man from his mouth until his brother’s cock began to soften. Finally letting it slip from his mouth, rubbing his lips over the head to catch the very last drips, savoring them, before finally pulling away and looking up at his beautiful brother. He kissed the tip of Sam’s cock one last time before he stood. Supporting Sam with his hands on his brother’s ass and his body pressing the younger man against the wall, he claimed those sweet lips once more. Sharing the taste of Sam with him, still able to taste himself in the younger man’s mouth, he groaned in pleasure again.

“Perfect… utterly perfect…” Dean whispered between tender loving kisses. 

* * *

He looked down, watching in awe as his master continued to suck on his cock until the last of his erection had all but disappeared. There was a memory, of seeing Dean do this before and he struggled to find that memory. He couldn't place it, couldn't remember it, so he decided to burn this memory in his mind instead. His breath hitched a little as Dean kissed the tip of his now soft cock and rose, his master's knees red from having been on them, having given him, his slave, the best blowjob in the world. A master should never be on his knees before his servant, but Dean so treasured him as to do this for him? If Dean so loved him now, he couldn't wait until all his runes were removed and his memory was regained. Maybe he would remember all the ways he had pleased Dean best before.

Dean's warm wet flesh pressed against his front while the cool wet wall pressed against his back in counterpoint. His kiss was heavenly, tasting himself amidst the lingering taste still in his mouth from his master's seed. Sam responded with pure passion, throwing his arms around Dean and holding him tightly, never wanting to let him go.

Perfect…? Sam beamed into each loving kiss. He wasn't sure if he could get better than perfect, but he would try. He never wanted to displease his master ever again. He wanted to be whatever Dean most wanted him to be.

He knew it was bold, but he wanted to let Dean know how much he loved him. He wanted to serve Dean and only Dean. "Can-can I be yours, forever?" Sam asked in between the kisses.

* * *

Sam’s soft hesitant question made his heart ache with how much he loved the younger man. It was so... almost innocent... That a part of that in Sam had been preserved, even though all the pain and torture that the younger man had been through, made Dean happy. Gave him hope that once Sam remembered himself he could be close to the person he was before all this happened. Dean knew the younger man would probably never be the same but... he hoped for Sam’s sake it would be enough. He would help his brother, do everything he could. The desire to protect and cherish his brother forever the only thing Dean could genuinely say he wanted for himself. He smiled at Sam adoringly and hugged the younger man even closer.

“Forever. As long as you want me. I am yours and you are mine.” Dean whispered softly into Sam’s ear, pulling back to kiss him again softly, and caress the younger man’s face tenderly with his fingertips. As much as he didn’t want this moment to end, he knew Sam needed more than this. His brother needed food and more rest, so after giving the younger man one last tender kiss relaxed his hold on Sam. Pulling away enough to shut off the shower.

“Lets get some food in you and then we can go back to bed.” Dean suggested, and he really did mean to return to bed to rest and sleep. But he certainly would not say no to pleasuring the beautiful young man one last time before they slept.

* * *

The way Dean smiled at him made him feel so very special. As long as he wanted Dean? He would always want Dean as his master! That they were each other's, he liked that, like that so much. I'm yours. You're mine. Always. He had said that to Dean. He remembered that. "Always," Sam said, finishing what Dean hadn't.

Dean's fingers brushed so lightly and gingerly across his face as if he were made of glass. He loved the tender kisses and his brother was a very good kisser. His brother…? The offer of food erased the thought almost as fast as the runes did. And the thought of bed was nice. He hoped Dean would give him a blanket maybe while he slept on the floor, though it was okay if he didn't. It was an indulgent wish and he really shouldn't expect such indulgences. They would weaken him. At least he wasn't hanging in chains and could actually lie down to sleep. He remembered it was a rare privilege to be permitted out of the chains to sleep on the floor. Smiling a little, he was pleased little bits and pieces were coming back to him. He knew the runes took them away again quickly, but he knew Dean wanted him to remember and this was very promising. Maybe his master would remove some more of the runes before they went to bed. It hurt a lot, but really not any worse than when they had been inscribed. And with each one his master destroyed, the closer he would become to being what he was.

Seeing that Dean was through kissing him, he quickly grabbed one of the towels and began drying off his master, planting light kisses as he did. Once his master was dry he cast his eyes on the clothes. Why were there two pairs of jeans and shorts and t-shirts? Perhaps to give his master a choice. One t-shirt was black and the other green, but he could tell no difference in the jeans. He was still dripping water and hastily wiped away just enough that he could be certain not to get the clothes wet.

"Shall I help you dress?" Sam asked, hoping Dean would indicate to him which set of clothes he wanted and which should be set aside for later.

* * *

Dean smiled and caressed Sam’s softly one last time.

“Always.” He echoed and stood still to let his brother dry him off. Sam touching him, even through the thick fluffy material of the towel, felt like heaven and he was almost disappointed when his brother was through. Dean reached for a towel to return the favor frowned a little when the younger man got out of the tub without drying off first. Instead going over to where the clothes were sitting that someone must have left for them at some point while they were busy in the shower.

Dad most likely since the older man said he would bring them.

Dean almost wished he hadn’t though because the look of confusion on Sam’s face as he stared at the garments made his heart ache. Another reminder that Sam wasn’t completely himself yet. Dean finally got out of the tub and approached Sam when the younger man asked to dress him. Instead Dean grabbed a towel began to finish drying off the younger man more thoroughly than Sam had done.

“In a minute.” He told Sam. Once he was finished with his brother’s body he ran the towel playfully over Sam’s shaggy hair a few times with a grin. Satisfied Sam was as dry as can be, Dean let the towel drop then finger combed through the unruly mop with a smile. “There, much better. Let’s get you dressed first now.”

Because of Sam’s earlier confusion he did not for an answer. Dean picked up the green shirt and a pair of underwear and handed it to Sam. He then picked up both pairs of jeans and shook them out, one of them was definitely longer than the other, and he gave that pair to Sam also with a smile.

“Do you need any help?” He asked the younger man. Dean was fairly certain that Sam remembered how to dress himself, since Sam had offered to help him, but if he didn’t he would certainly help his brother.

* * *

Instead of pointing out which set of clothes he wanted, Dean brought a towel over to him. Sam thought he had done a very good job of drying his master off but if not, then he would do it again and this time get it perfect. As he started to reach out to take the towel, the man took hold of his arm and began drying him off. He stared at his master, almost as surprised as when his master not only let him come but got down on his knees to do it. He stood docilely and let his master dry him off. The way Dean mussed his hair with the towel, grinning, made Sam return the grin, but he couldn't help his sudden shyness. His master was enjoying teasing him…and it was without pain. The feel of Dean's fingers through his hair felt wonderful.

Dean wanted him to get dressed first? The man had to be the most confusing master in the world. Sam hesitated only a moment when Dean asked him if he needed help getting dressed. Sam shook his head, the shy smile returning. He remembered how to dress. You couldn't lead an army naked, after all. It was just strange. And that he was dressed as well as his master? That seemed wrong, but the man seemed happy enough. He couldn't help but watch his master through the hair that had fallen across his eyes, admiring every ripple of that perfect body. If he hadn't just come, he thought he could get hard just watching him.

After Dean was dressed, Sam reached up and tucked the tag from the t-shirt that was sticking out, back inside Dean's shirt. With a light hand he stopped Dean and when Dean turned questioningly to him, he ran his own fingers through Dean's hair, making it look presentable. Hesitantly he stepped closer to Dean and gathering his courage, he planted a kiss on his master's lips, then felt his face redden as he hurriedly stepped back, his head down, unsure if he was going to get in trouble for it.

 

* * *

Sam’s sudden bouts of shyness was doing things to him that Dean didn’t fully understand.

On one hand, it made him want to take Sam into his arms, hold him tight, and simply keep him there. As long as the younger man was safe in his arms nothing could ever harm Sam again. The tender feelings he had towards the younger man and no one else were always strong, even when they were children. What he was feeling now was the same feeling he had when he would wrap his arms, as insubstantial as they were, around the younger boy and just hold him for as long as they were allowed together that time. Comfort him. Love him. Keep him safe…

At the same time, Sam’s shy looks and smiles were building such a heat inside of him. Even though he’d just come, he felt his cock twitch. He wanted to take Sam back to the bedroom, forget about the fucking clothes, because he wanted to touch and taste and worship every inch of his brother’s flesh. Dean wanted to kiss and fuck Sam until they were both utterly and completely spent and then do it all over again.

He wasn’t sure why Sam’s behavior was affecting him so. His brother was anything but innocent now… but he was behaving so, and it was really turning him on. The soft quick kiss his brother gave him making him somehow hotter than the passionate hungry kisses they’d shared not so long ago.

Dean smiled at the younger man and drew Sam close again, pressing a soft kiss to his temple and then his cheek.

“I like it when you kiss me.” He said softly, then pressed another tender, almost chaste, kiss to Sam’s lips. Biting back a soft moan that tried to escape him when he felt his cock twitch again.

Maybe he simply enjoyed pretending to be the master… a little too much…

* * *

Elation barely covered how Sam felt. Not only was his master not upset he had taken it upon himself to kiss him, but Dean returned the kiss three times and told him he liked it. That meant he could kiss Dean more often, and when he wished, unless his master indicated he didn't want the attention at the moment.

"Me too," Sam said softly. He was almost disappointed when Dean released him. He liked the way he felt so safe in his new master's arms. He knew, simply knew, he had never felt so safe in his father's arms. Azazel, he corrected himself. Dean didn't want Sam calling him father. He was having a hard enough time remembering that Dean didn't like to be called master.

He followed Dean down the hall and smelled the wonderful odor of cooking food. It smelled like a feast. When they entered the dining room he looked around, not quite certain where he should sit. He saw a place off to the side that should keep him out of the way while the others ate. He couldn't help but hope after they were done eating, his master might give him some water. He was very thirsty after have lost the blood he had. He was a little hungry and then he remembered his master said he was going to get him some food. That thought cheered him even more. He had done well enough to earn a meal! He quickly slipped over to the niche he had spotted and sat down pulling his long legs in close to him. Not surprisingly, he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, and he wasn't certain, but he didn't think he had ever eaten outside of his room nor without his chains on. He hoped that his master wouldn't forget his promise of food, but if he did, that was okay. He wasn't really that hungry.

 

* * *

Seeing Sam so happy and hearing the younger man shyly admit how much he liked kissing him made Dean want to pull his brother into his arms and never stop kissing him. But Sam needed more from him right now than just Dean making love to him, the younger man needed him to look after all his needs.

So Dean led the younger man out of the bathroom towards the kitchen. From the smells coming from that area Dean could tell that breakfast was probably almost ready. Surely Sam was hungry and thirsty even though he knew Sam would never admit it. Just like Dean would have never admitted it.

Dean moved to the table to sit down and it took him a moment to realize that his brother had not followed him. Of course it did not take much searching to find Sam, he knew his brother would not have gone far without his “permission”, however seeing Sam crouching down in a corner broke Dean’s heart a little more. Even though Dean had been trained to do much the same thing in Azazel’s presence. He knew is place...

But that was not where Sam belonged.

“Sam...” Dean said softly and held out his hand to the younger man. “You belong with me.”

* * *

Sam was surprised when Dean held out his hand. He hurried to Dean's side and took his hand and began to kneel on the floor beside him when Dean instead guided him to a chair. He didn't think he had done well enough to earn a place at the table beside his master, but he wasn't about to argue. He could hear the three men in the kitchen talking and the clatter of dishes. He tried not to fidget. The table was set and orange juice was already sitting in front of his empty plate.

The door to the kitchen opened and he saw surprise cross the older man's face. John Winchester. The man he was also supposed to obey. The man smiled then and set down a plate of hash browns and another plate filled with sausage and bacon.

"We don't need to call the boys, they're here," John yelled into the kitchen.

Jim brought out a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, followed by Bobby who brought in coffee and a bowl of grits.

The three men sat down and Jim bowed his head. Bobby and John followed suit. "We thank thee Lord for this bounty before us, for the aid of Briathos, and for returning the Winchesters to us safely. Amen."

Bobby and John echoed Jim's amen and started to dig in. Bobby glanced over at Dean and seeing Dean making no move to take any food, he finished filling his plate to overflowing. Taking Dean's empty plate, he slid the full plate in front of the young man. Meeting Dean's gaze he flicked his eyes to Sam and then to the overflowing plate he had put in front of Dean. He then started filling his plate with a more reasonable amount of food and set it at his own spot. Both John and Jim gave Bobby a curious look, but didn't say anything. Since the coffee was in front of him, Bobby motioned for the mugs to be passed down and he filled each one, handing them back.

The plates hadn't much more than been set in front of Dean when Rumsfeld slunk into the room and planted himself by Dean, and gave a soft, hopeful whine.

* * *

The way Sam hurried so quickly to his side tugged at Dean’s heart again, but he only continued to smile gently at the younger man. Quickly guiding his brother into a chair before Sam could kneel to him. He didn’t need to guess that was what his brother had been planning to do. He knew. It’s what Dean himself would have done if he were submitting himself to Azazel. Of course that thought made equal amounts of anger and sadness well up inside of him again but Dean pushed it down, reminding himself that Sam wouldn’t always be this way. He would remember, soon, and then things would be the way they should.

Dean was glad that not long after he took a seat beside his brother that the other three men came out of the kitchen with the food. He wanted to get Sam fed. Who knew when his brother last ate?

The young man did not bow his head during the short prayer and neither did Sam, not that he’d expected him to. But when the other man began taking food for themselves, Dean felt an almost panic well up inside of him.

Of course Sam would not take any food for himself. The younger man thought it wasn’t his place. Neither was it Dean’s place. But Sam needed to eat. Dean didn’t know what to do. Too many years of conditioning warred against his need to care for Sam.

Thankfully Bobby took the matter out of his hands. Setting a full plate in front of him and the older man’s meaningful look easing the panicked feeling that had settled inside of his chest. It was not only permission for himself to eat but for him to give some of it to Sam. Dean didn’t hesitate then scooting Sam’s empty plate closer to his and splitting the portion on his plate between the two.

He set the full plate back in front of Sam with a smile. Taking one of the coffees given to him and putting it next to the plate, and even moving the glass of juice that had already been sitting at Sam’s place setting a little closer. He brushed Sam’s cheek then with the back of his knuckles and gave the younger man a small nod.

“Go ahead. If you’re still hungry or thirsty let us know.” Dean said, and hearing the soft whine from his other side he turned to look at the dog with a grin. Snagging a piece of bacon from his own plate and giving it to the animal. He patted Rumsfeld on the head before he began eating his own meal. His eyes constantly darted between Sam to see if the younger man needed anything more and to the dog, occasionally offering up portions of his own food to the animal. 

* * *

Sam’s eyes widened at all the food his master put on his plate. All for him? And he was fed before the dog? He leaned into his master’s gentle touch on his cheek just a little. Even though Dean had given him permission to eat, he didn’t touch anything until his master began eating. The first thing he did was scoop up the juice and drink the glass empty. Bobby immediately pushed himself away from the table and brought in two glasses of water that he set in front of Dean, one obviously meant for Sam. As soon as Dean gave it to him, he emptied half of the glass of its contents. With his thirst quenched he focused on the food. He started to scoop the food up with his fingers when he realized he had silverware. It felt strange at first to pick up silverware but after a few moments of awkwardness, he grew more comfortable and began eating the food at a steady but almost mechanical pace. He kept his features schooled showing neither pleasure nor displeasure at the food’s taste, but he couldn’t remember anything ever tasting quite so good. How much of that had to do with his master having given him the food and how much had to do with the food itself being good, and nothing in it but cooked food, he wasn’t sure. It seemed a little strange not to have the crunchy bugs he remembered was typical in his bowl of scraps. By the time he was half done with what was on his plate he was getting full.

“Rumsfeld will take anything either of you two can’t finish,” Bobby said, beginning to slow down on what he was eating himself. He slid a few more pieces of sausage onto Dean’s plate.

“His bowl for food,” Jim said hastily, ”is on the back porch.” The last thing he wanted was the slobbering dog eating off of his plates.

Bobby smirked at him. “Don’t want your dishes washed by Rumsfeld? I guarantee he won’t leave a morsel.”

Jim harrumphed as he pushed his not quite empty plate away from him and began sipping on his coffee. He glanced over at Sam. “How are you feeling Samuel?”

Sam glanced up guiltily and looked at Dean. He had never earned the right to eat at a table and he wasn’t at all certain what he was and wasn’t permitted to do. He certainly never expected to be addressed by any of the others. He immediately set down his silverware. He was actually a little relieved. He was quite full but hadn’t wanted to leave anything his master had given him. If he was being addressed, he was surely expected to stop eating.

With Dean’s permission to speak he straightened his shoulders and looked at Jim. “Strong and ready to fight as my fath—as Azazel taught me. My new master need only tell me what I am to do and it will be done. I await Dean’s guidance and orders.”

* * *

Dean had felt a flash of guilt go through him when Sam had drank the juice down so quickly. He wanted to kick himself for being an idiot. For not anticipating that Sam needed to drink because he knew Sam would never ask for something to drink no matter how thirsty he might be. Just as Dean would not. Already he was not taking care of Sam like he should… he had to do better, he couldn’t fail in this too. He couldn’t fail Sam again.

He was grateful when the older man got up and brought more water for Sam. Dean gave one of the glasses to the younger man but didn’t drink from his own. Leaving it untouched so that he could give it to his brother if Sam was still thirsty after he was done drinking.

Dean watched Sam eat, wondering if his brother liked the food or if he wanted more… or less. Maybe he should ask Sam if he was full. But he didn’t want Sam to think he wanted him to stop eating if he wasn’t full.

He hoped Bobby’s words that the dog would finish whatever they didn’t eat would be enough to reassure the younger man that Sam didn’t need to finish everything if he couldn’t. Dean gave a nod to Bobby and then to Jim when the other man indicated where the dog’s food bowl was.

Dean noticed Sam’s glance to him when Jim addressed the younger man and he felt his heart twist a little again but he tried not to show it. Instead giving the younger man a reassuring look and nod that he could answer, when Sam finally did answer… he couldn’t say he was really surprised by it. But still he could not stop himself from feeling the hot spark of anger inside of him again towards Azazel for what the demon had done to Sam. He knew that feeling would never completely go away, not even once Sam was better.

Dean ignored the other men’s reactions to Sam’s words and reached over to lay a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Don’t think about what Azazel taught you. You only need to worry about getting better and remembering.” He said gently. 

* * *

Sam didn't really understand the looks on the faces of the three men. Shock? Surprise? Pain? Dammit, he was tired of being confused. He felt a spike of anger go through him that Azazel had taken away his understanding. He understood that distractions in battle were bad and could prevent him from taking the most expeditious course of action, but surely confusion was worse. If they would just give him an army to lead, he knew what to do. He didn't know what to do without a goal.

His master's hand on his shoulder calmed him immediately. If his goal was to get better and remember, then they knew how to do that. The runes had to be removed. The men, including his master, did not seem inclined to rush to that though. Perhaps they could only remove so many runes at a time. It seemed to him it had taken his father at lease a couple sessions to set them all in place.

He nodded to his master and then looked back down at his plate. He was fairly certain if he ate much more that he would make himself sick. The one man who had just spoken to him had left food on his plate and appeared to be done. The other man said the dog could be given what ever he didn't finish. He decided he would do as the first man did. He pushed his plate forward and begin drinking the coffee. He would watch his master and if it appeared his master was displeased, he would continue to eat. If not, he would feed the remains to the dog.

The first sip of coffee was a strange comfort, though admittedly he realized he like milk and sugar in it when it was this strong. With hardly a thought he reached out and pulled the sugar bowl close and scooped a teaspoon into it. He poured some milk into it and stirred. He sipped it again and a small smile touched his lips. That was better. That was right.

He suddenly set the coffee down in horror and turned guilty eyes on his master. "I-I'm sorry Dean," he said, and bowed his head, his hands going to his lap. How stupid was he to think he had such rights to take what he wanted from his master's table? He sat stone still, awaiting Dean's punishment, knowing it would be severe for such a terrible presumptuous act.

* * *

Dean let his hand slip off Sam’s shoulder and went back to eating, taking a bite of one of the sausages that had “appeared” on his plate and he was surprised but pleased as he watched Sam reaching for the sugar and milk and adding it to his coffee. It was something so simple, but it was a relief nonetheless to see Sam take something for himself. It was a reassurance that Sam was getting better, becoming more like himself, already.

Of course the smile immediately slipped off Dean’s face with Sam’s almost horrified realization of what he’d done and the younger man’s apology. Dean didn’t hesitate reaching over to touch Sam again, this time cupping the back of his brother’s neck and leaning towards him. Pulling Sam to him for a tender lingering kiss.

Once he was sure that Sam would not feel like he was going to be punished for his actions, Dean pulled back though his hand remained on the back of his brother’s neck caressing gently.

“Don’t be sorry. You can have whatever you want. You don’t need my permission first.” He said, smiling at the younger man again, before drawing away. “Are you done? Or would you like some more of anything? If you don’t want anything you don’t need to take it either.” 

* * *

When Dean's hand went to the back of his head, he braced himself for the tightening of the fingers, for the slam of his face into the table, for whatever Dean deemed was justice. Dean leaned toward him and he expected gnashed words, fury, and he deserved it all and more. Instead Dean pulled him close and he stiffened, unsure what Dean was going to do in just retribution. But all he did was kiss him and knead the back of his neck where the muscles were tight as steel. The kiss was so very loving, he realized he was forgiven and felt his muscles unclench and the twisting in his stomach eased.

Sam looked at the half full plate at Dean's question. "I think if I eat any more I'm going to puke," Sam admitted softly, growing a little more confident his master wasn't going to be mad at him for not eating more. He chewed on his lip then asked. "Orange juice? Could I get half a glass of orange juice? I won't be able to drink more than that, but it was really good."

John stared as the man he knew was his eldest son kissed his youngest son and wasn't sure what he felt. He didn't consider himself prudish, and had never judged when he saw two of the same gender together, though he never quite understood it. He didn't consider it 'wrong', he just couldn't imagine himself kissing another man. That his son was kissing another man was…strange. That his son was kissing his older brother was even stranger, but John hadn't quite put Dean into the category of son yet. He accepted he was, he was grateful beyond measure his eldest was alive, but the connection, the classification just hadn't quite solidified for him yet. He still had moments when Dean was the man who had tortured him, made him scream, and enjoyed it. But when he saw the tenderness and love Dean had for Sam, the gentle touch, his mind pushed the memories of that torturing son of a bitch image from his mind. The young smiling face of his happy four year old Dean slipped into his mind. The demon bastard had taught Dean this was the way to show affection. And Sam. Sam's whole world had been uprooted. In just weeks he had gone from a pre-law student in college with a girlfriend he planned to marry, to a wielder of demonic power, to a gay lover of a boy he had apparently known all his life, who was also his brother, to the broken slave of the same demon who had ruined his eldest. And now his young boy considered his older brother his master. Sam had turned nearly white when he had realized he had done something without permission, and Dean reassured Sam the only way he had been taught to reassure. John suddenly hoped Dean never felt the need to reassure him.

Sam wanted orange juice. He'd always been a juice freak. It was a toss up if apple or orange was his favorite. But orange juice was his morning preference. Apple juice was something he would drink later in the day. John pushed himself away from the table and headed into the kitchen. In part it was to get the carton of juice from the fridge. In part it was to try to gather himself. He wanted to reclaim Dean as his son, but he wasn't sure he could if Dean and Sam were going to be together…that way. But maybe he could accept Dean as Sam's boyfriend. You treated your child's lover like an offspring, right? This was just a little more…twisted, trying to separate son from 'son-in-law' or however the hell he should think about it.

It was just going to take time, just as Jim had counseled him. He knew Jim wasn't particularly thrilled either, but when an angel of the lord gives it his blessing, not like Jim could say much. John took a deep breath and went back into the dining room, poured half a glass of juice as Sam asked, and set the carton on the table in case Sam decided he wanted more.  
  


* * *

Of course he’d felt how Sam had tensed initially to his touch but when he felt his brother’s muscles relax underneath his fingers he smiled. Relieved when he ended the kiss and drew back the fear in Sam’s eyes was gone.

He nodded when Sam said he was done but he wanted more juice.

“Whatever you want.” He said, turning his head when John Winchester got up and went into the kitchen, assuming the older man was going to get it for Sam. Dean would have gotten up to get it himself, because Sam wanted it, but he was glad the other man did so he didn’t have to leave Sam’s side. When their Dad returned and filled Sam’s glass Dean moved the juice a little closer to Sam to further reassure the younger man that he could drink it.

Since they were both done Dean picked up Sam’s plate and dumped the remains back on his own plate while his brother drank his juice. Once Sam was done he got up and picked up the plate, Rumsfeld jumping up excitedly and wagging his tail knowing that it was meant for him.

“Would you like to come outside with me, Sam?” Dean asked. 

* * *

Sam watched as the John Winchester got to his feet and returned with orange juice. His brow furrowed a moment. Dean said John Winchester was his father. How could someone have two fathers?

Only after Dean moved the orange juice closer to him did he pick up the glass that the older man poured for him. He drank it down slowly, but it one long draught. That was really really good. He wiped the orange mustache off his lips with the back of his hand and smiled at Dean and bobbed his head a little at his 'father' in thanks.

Sam quickly got to his feet. He was really kind of tired, but being outside, that would be nice. He sent out light tentacles to see if maybe the demon army was nearby, but the runes stopped his search. Maybe outside he could sense them. He laughed a little at the very excited dog. The dog certainly didn't look like it was starved but it was certainly excited about the food. Well, it was very good food.

He followed Dean outside and watched as his master put the food in the bowl. The dog stuffed his face into the bowl barely before all the food had been scraped into it. Now that he was outside, he reached out with his powers. Nothing. The place was very well protected against things such as demons, he could sense that, but there was no army. Dean had said Azazel was dead. Maybe that ended the planned invasion of the Human world.  
  
"Dean, please tell me. Is the war Azazel planned still going to happen? Are you going to lead it? Am I still going to lead an army?" the young man asked. He didn't want to leave Dean's side, but he wanted, more than anything, to please his master and would do whatever was asked of him.

* * *

Of course Dean had felt his brother’s power reaching out but said nothing of it. If it would reassure the younger man to know for certain, rather than simply take their word for it, that there were no demons nearby, Dean could certainly understand that. He probably would have done it himself in fact, if Sam hadn’t, just to be sure. Despite the fact that he was pretty damned certain that now that Azazel was dead the demons under his command were probably too busy fighting amongst themselves for control to even think to worry about them.

Besides, the grounds around this property were so well protected against demons it _would_ take nearly an army to break through. Of course, Dean had thought Bobby’s house and the panic room would have withstood a little longer than it had… but who could really gauge what would hold back demons against the power of a fallen angel? Hopefully neither of them would ever have to face another one any time soon. Azazel had been the first fallen angel to be able to crawl out of the deepest depths of hell in over a thousand years, so again, it was unlikely.

Dean smiled a little hearing Sam’s laugh behind him as the younger man watched him feed the dog. He gave Rumsfeld a little pat on the head after filling up his bowl before he straightened and turned to face Sam again. His brother’s question wasn’t really expected but Dean honestly wasn’t completely sure how to answer.

The demon army still existed after all and were, like he suspected before, probably all fighting over the leadership of it. That could take decades for all Dean knew, unless an extremely powerful demon came out on top very quickly. Would that demon try to follow through with Azazel’s plans? He had no idea. He doubted any demon, would turn to Sam for leadership however. Most likely they would either ignore Sam’s existence completely, thinking Sam was dead, or try to kill him because of the plans Azazel had for him.

Dean wasn’t going to let that happen. He crossed the small distance between them and gathered the younger man up in his arms.

“Whether or not there is a war, we won’t be a part of it. You are all that matters to me. I’m going to take care of you, keep you safe, always.” 

* * *

They wouldn't be part of the war? All his training…? Sam wasn't certain he really understood, but if that's what Dean wanted who was he to argue. He was a servant, a slave, and he would of course accept it. He liked very much that Dean held him close and that Dean promised to take care of him. He wrapped his own arms around Dean and shut his eyes, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder as he tentatively twined his powers with his master's. Dean could be one of the most powerful if he chose to be. Dean was strong and Sam knew he himself was quite powerful and with their powers so entangled, Dean had full access to everything that was Sam's. Dean didn't seem to care about the power though. He didn't seem to care about anything other than Sam and Sam felt so safe and loved in his master's arms. He felt…important. A slave probably shouldn't feel that way, but he felt important to his master and that seemed, in his mind, to be okay.

Dean said he liked it when Sam kissed him. He liked it when Dean kissed him too. He twisted his head and kissed the side of Dean's neck, sucking a little and slowly working his way up his master's neck, nibbling and nipping at the man's jaw, before continuing up to Dean's mouth. He groaned softly as he kissed Dean deeper and felt his cock twitch in anticipation. Rolling his hips forward, he pressed against the man, inviting the man to take him and enjoy him if he so chose. Although Sam was tired, he wanted to pleasure his master again. he wanted to make his master feel as happy as his master made him feel.  


* * *

  


Dean could sense his brother’s confusion that he would not be leading an army under Azazel’s name. Bordering on upset? He wasn’t sure.

Of course he understood Sam’s feelings. All Sam remembered was what the demon had taught him after all. The very same things that Azazel had taught Dean to be all of his life. A slave. A weapon. A killer… Without that, Sam would feel he had very little purpose. Dean understood that all too well.

Even now it was… difficult… to turn away from all that he knew. Dean might not wish to be a demon any longer but he did not consider himself human. He might not actively seek out hunters to murder any more but that did not mean he considered them allies. If there was a war between humans and demons, unless Sam told him to, he would not choose a side to fight on. He had no reason to choose. Neither side would accept him. Dean had nothing to gain from either side winning such a war.

But Dean had a purpose now other than what Azazel had taught him. Sam. The elder man smiled when the younger man embraced him and rested his chin on his shoulder. He felt Sam’s power reaching out to him and Dean embraced the younger man in his own power, letting their powers twine together, join, as Sam had so wanted to before. Now it was safe to.

He sighed softly at the feeling of Sam’s lips against his neck. Dean began to caress Sam’s back with one hand, his other twining into the younger man’s hair, petting. When Sam’s lips finally found his, Dean’s mouth opened for him and he moaned in appreciation and approval. Twining their tongues together and feeling Sam’s arousal both through their joined powers and his brother’s hardening member pressing into his stomach. Dean’s hand slid down to the younger man’s ass, gripping and pulling his brother tighter against him.

They kissed and rubbed against each other for a few moments before Dean finally broke away from his brother’s sweet mouth, panting a little as he whispered, “Inside. Bed.”

* * *

When Dean's hand tightened on his ass and pulled them tightly together, Sam moaned and felt himself harden more. The way Dean kissed him, so needy, wanting him so much and Sam wanted him. He was disappointed when Dean ended their kiss, at least until Dean told him they were going to go inside. He couldn't deny his heart leapt a little. He wanted to feel Dean inside him, he wanted to see Dean's face, wanted to hear him moan, wanted to hear him shout Sam's name.  
  
Sam nodded and headed inside. It was obviously time for more of the runes to be removed. He was both a little disappointed and happy. He would rather make love to his master, but his master had defined for him his goal. To remember.

He didn't look at the three men still sitting at the table drinking their coffee. Dean had told him to go to the bed. He assumed Dean meant the bed they had been in earlier and as Dean did not tell him otherwise that was where he went. He stepped into the room and saw that it had been cleaned up. The stain of his blood, of Dean's blood, was still on the floor though it had been wiped dry. He disrobed quickly and upon seeing the knife Dean had used to remove some of the runes, went over to it. Since Dean wanted him to remember, he picked up the knife and presented it to his master, making the dark runes visible to Dean. He went down to one knee and bowed his head. He hoped after Dean helped him get closer to his goal, he would get to pleasure his master.

 

* * *

Dean followed his brother back inside the house, barely glancing at the other men as they made their way back to the bedroom. He couldn’t deny the flash of arousal that spread through him and the way his dick hardened even more once they were there and Sam immediately stripped down naked. He licked his lips, his anticipation only growing at being able to taste and touch the younger man again. His fingers itching to touch and caress every inch of Sam’s beautiful flesh, to make his brother moan and writhe beneath him.

However before he could begin to disrobe himself Sam went over and picked up the knife that Dean had used on him before. The elder man froze when the younger man returned to him and offered him the blade. Showing him once more the dark writhing runes just underneath Sam’s flesh, the poison, the taint, that had tried to take his brother away from him, making Sam forget him…

Dean knew immediately what Sam wanted him to do. That was not what Dean had been planning, but… he wanted Sam back. He wanted Sam to be himself again, and this was the only way to do it. Dean would make it easier this time, he had been too brutal before, driven by rage and despair. He would be more careful this time, to make it not hurt as much.

He took the knife from Sam but reached down to grasp the younger man’s arm, pulling his brother back to his feet.

“Don’t ever kneel to me.” Dean said softly, kissing his brother gently, and then smiling at the younger man. “Wait here.”

Dean left the room quickly then, heading for the bathroom where he grabbed several towels. Underneath the sink he found a first aid kit, and took it as well, even though he didn’t think he would really need it considering how well Sam could heal now. Finally he went to the kitchen, bypassing the dining room where the three older men were still sitting, talking quietly amongst themselves. He found a large bowl which he filled with warm water, and finally returned to the bedroom. Shutting and locking the door behind him so they wouldn’t be disturbed.

He set down the bowl and first aid kit on the floor and then laid out one of the large towels. It would be better to do this on the floor so the bed could remain clean for them to sleep afterwards. Dean motioned to Sam then.

“Come here. Lay down.” He said softly, quickly stripping off his own clothes and tossing them aside and kneeling down on the floor beside the towel. Dean tested the knife by making a quick slice on his own finger and decided it was plenty sharp enough for now, but he would make sure to sharpen it again before they did this again. A finely sharpened blade would cut quicker and with less pain. 

* * *

Sam lay down on his stomach. The runes on his back he knew were the most active at keeping his memories at bay. He wanted to be strong and prove himself as such. He was determined he would not scream, not unless Dean told him to. Azazel had taught him to be silent when suffering pain. If he screamed, the punishment grew in severity. Sam wasn't sure if Dean was disciplining him from earlier, but he thought not. Dean had repeatedly told him how much he loved him and told him how well he had done. This was purely about removing the runes, of Sam getting his memories back.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He felt the knife blade cut into his skin, tracing one of the runes and felt Dean's powers carefully extract the spell components buried in flesh and muscle. The breaking of the rune was searing agony but he kept his mouth clamped shut, clenching his jaw. As soon as Dean finished with the first rune, Sam healed it closed, though the flesh it had inscribed still felt aflame from the disrupted dark power that had yet to dissipate. He knew it would, and in just a few short minutes.

By the fifth one, Sam was beginning to tremble and sweat coated his flesh. He would not scream. He would not scream, dammit. He would make Dean proud of him.

As soon as he healed that one closed, he couldn't help it and let the runes fade from view. He cursed his weakness and forced the runes to illuminate again. He was panting but not yet gasping. Once he starting gasping for air, he knew the screams would follow. The runes had been horribly painful to set, he remembered that. They were just as horribly painful to remove. He could withstand hours of pain without screaming. At least he thought he could. Not with these. These were worse than when Azazel had Alistair working on him. Even so, Dean was being much more gentle that the last time and he could tell was attempting to minimize the pain and comparatively was succeeding.

* * *

His cuts were quick. He removed the dark spell components as fast and as gently as he could. He tried to give Sam a little time in between the younger man healing one wound before he started on the next. But even with all his efforts Dean knew that the younger man was still in extreme pain from what he was doing. He could feel echoes of it rippling down the bonds that joined them together and he hated knowing he was the cause of it even though he knew it was necessary. If he wanted Sam back, his real Sam, then it had to be done.

In between cuts Dean did his best to sooth the younger man. Running his fingers gently through Sam’s sweat dampened hair and over the trembling muscles of his back and buttocks. Not trying to arouse, not wanting the younger man to equate the pain he was causing Sam with pleasure, merely trying to make it easier.

Dean didn’t want this to go on too long, but at the same time he knew it would be better to simply get it over with. He didn’t want this to go on for weeks or months while he removed only one rune at a time. Better to just endure the pain now all at once and get it over with. But Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to remove all of the runes now even if he wanted to listen to Sam screaming for hours which he certainly didn’t. There were simply too many and Sam would lose too much blood if he did them all now.

Finally Dean set the bloody knife aside.

“That’s enough for now.” He whispered gently, tenderly petting Sam’s hair again as he watched the younger man heal up the last cut he’d made. Then Dean picked up one of the towels he’d brought in, soaked it in the water. He began washing off Sam’s back of the blood he’d spilled and patting the younger man dry with a different towel when he was done.

“Bed.” Dean said once he was satisfied Sam was clean, and helped the trembling young man to his feet. Guiding his brother over to the bed and helping him lay down on his stomach again. He joined Sam on the bed, kneeling over his brother as he ran his hands tenderly over him. Along his back, flanks, and buttocks. Trying to sooth as before, but promising more now, promising pleasure instead of pain. He leaned in to brush his lips gently over the back of Sam’s neck, sucking and nuzzling his brother’s skin. Settling down to rest on the back of Sam’s thighs, his dick fitting easily between his brother’s cheeks as he began to rock gently against him, pressing Sam down against the mattress.

“Love you…” He breathed into his brother’s ear.

* * *

He wanted to cry from the pain. He wanted to ask his master to stop. He wouldn't of course. This was what his master wanted. Dean wanted Azazel's marks removed so Sam's memory would return. It was becoming harder to heal the wounds closed and it was a long blur of pain even though Dean would pause and give him a break, and stroke him soothingly. There were so very many runes. Everywhere. Those on his back were the strongest, he knew that. He cradled his chin on his hands and concentrated on staying silent, of healing the wounds over, and steeling himself for the next insertion of the blade into his flesh.

He was startled when Dean set the knife aside and told him that was enough. He had more or less drifted off into the trance like state he had learned in order to endure such torture. It didn't make it any less painful, it merely made it easier to keep the screams deep inside. Sam lay there waiting for the dark broken magic to fade from gnawing into his flesh. He didn't expect it when Dean began washing his back free of the blood. Why was he doing that? To keep the place clean he supposed. He wondered what his cell would look like when Dean was finally through with him. Dean certainly had important things to do that he would not want his slave along for. But Dean hadn't tried to leave him behind since the very beginning when he was mad at Sam for not remembering. He knew if he weren't so tired the fog in his mind might be less, but he just didn't care at the moment unless Dean wanted him to care.

When his master told him to get into the bed, Sam felt his heart jump. To hell with being tired if he was going to get to pleasure his master. He would make love to his master until he wore his master out and his master slept happily and contently. He knew he was still shaky when Dean helped him to his feet and into the bed and on to his stomach. He didn't expect Dean to caress him and give him time to recuperate, but it made sense if Dean wanted Sam to give him the best pleasure he could. The caresses were soft and intimate and Sam found himself sighing and enjoying the gentle touches. He moaned as his master's hot breath rolled over his neck, as those lips and mouth teased him.

As Dean settled down onto him he moaned as he felt Dean's dick press against him and Dean moved slowly back and forth. He felt his own cock begin to fill as he rocked against the mattress. Dean's words filled him with joy.

"Please, fuck me, Dean," Sam said as he pushed back a little more with each movement. He wanted Dean inside him so badly he ached.

* * *

Dean groaned softly feeling the head of his dick catch a little on the rim of Sam’s hole when his brother pushed and rubbed back against him. Feeling the younger man’s sweet hot opening quiver against his sensitive flesh only making him harder, his brother’s soft plea filling him with equal measures of tenderness and desire.

“Anything you want.” He promised, his breath tickling the edge of Sam’s ear before kissing the spot just underneath it. Licking and lightly biting, he enjoyed sucking a bruise on the side of Sam’s neck and the feeling them pressed so close together. Fitting together so perfectly. His chest against his brother’s back, his cock resting so snug and perfect between his brother’s cheeks. Of Sam’s hard perfect body pinned beneath him.

He savored those feelings for a few more moments before he reluctantly pushed himself up a little. Scooting down, letting his hands sweep possessively down his from his brother’s shoulders to his lower back. His lips following, leaving a damp trail of kisses, licks, and gentle bites. He continued past the small of his brother’s back. His hands coming to rest warmly on the cheeks of his brother’s ass. Massaging the firm muscles carefully, pulling them apart to let him glimpse the younger man’s perfect tight hole.

With a soft needy moan he grasped Sam’s hips, tugging his brother up a little.

“On your knees, that’s it…” Dean practically purred as he arranged Sam in the position he wanted him. The younger man’s ass up in offering, his legs parted, and his shoulders still pressed against the mattress beneath him. Dean couldn’t contain the deep needy moan that was pulled from his throat at the sight.

“So beautiful…” He whispered. Letting his fingertips graze along Sam’s soft skin, running a hand up from his brother’s lower back to his neck. Gently petting through Sam’s soft sweat dampened hair as he gazed at the younger man’s hole and the beautiful cock so hard and ready between Sam’s legs just begging for attention.

Dean leaned down to gently nuzzle the younger man’s balls, taking his brother in hand and licking down the length of Sam’s shaft to his tip. Sucking teasingly on his brother’s head for a few moments but not lingering anywhere for long. Moving back to Sam’s balls, and then back even further. Parting Sam’s cheeks once more with both hands as he licked up his brother’s crease right to his hole. 

* * *

Sam practically trembled with anticipation when Dean promised him he would. He moaned as Dean worked on the side of his neck. He liked being pinned by his master, liked the way it made him feel owned and possessed by him. Every lick, every nip down his back generated soft delighted moans from Sam's throat. When Dean reached his ass, he felt his heart speed up. He readily let Dean arrange him. However his master wanted him, he would gladly shift to that position. He relaxed himself ready to take his master's hard cock into him.

His master thought he was beautiful. He liked that. He liked that a lot. He was surprised when Dean didn't enter him but instead caressed him, treating him like he was precious. The way Dean touched him sent shivers through him.

When Dean's mouth worked his way down Sam was making him harder and harder. He was unprepared for his master's hot mouth on his balls and he threw back his head and moaned. He fisted the sheets in his hand as Dean's mouth worked on him, teasing him and it was only through his training that he didn't buck and beg for more. He didn't need to beg for more though. That wet wonderful tongue licked it's way back to Sam's hole.

"Dean!" Sam moaned softly and forced himself to relax, silently begging for that hot muscle to invade him and fuck him.  


* * *

Dean smiled against Sam’s flesh, tickling around the tight ring of muscles with the tip of his tongue teasingly. Feeling it relax and he wasted no time giving Sam what he obviously wanted. Pushing his tongue in deeper with a moan of pleasure, holding the younger man’s hips steady while he licked his brother open. Savoring every sound of pleasure Sam made as he worked relaxing his brother’s tight muscles and getting the younger man wet and ready for him.

Though Sam seemed to have no trouble relaxing for him now, and though Dean felt that familiar spark of rage inside of him knowing why, he pushed it aside. Concentrating instead on giving his brother pleasure, perhaps hoping he could make Sam forget the pain and violation he had suffered at Azazel’s hands as easily as Azazel had made Sam forget him…

Dean let his hands caress up and down his brother’s thighs and then finally release the younger man, one of them moving between Sam’s legs to cup and fondle his cock and balls. His other hand moving to push a finger inside his brother’s tight hole along with his tongue, teasing the younger man from the inside and the outside.

It wasn’t long before his cock was leaking precome, eager to be buried deeply into his brother and fucking Sam, but even if Sam didn’t need it he would not until he’d opened the younger man with at least two fingers. He didn’t trust his brother not to tell him when he was hurting Sam, and even though he knew he’d caused the younger man a lot more pain while removing the runes, this was different. Soon Dean pushed a second finger inside Sam, curling and rubbing his fingers against his brother’s prostate. He pulled back just enough to watch his brother’s body take him, nipped lightly at one of Sam’s ass cheeks while he fucked Sam open with his fingers.

After a time Dean began to realize exactly how still the younger man was being through the pleasure and frowned a little.

“You can tell me how much you like it, Sam. You can show me. Do you want more? Do you want my cock now? You can tell me…” 

* * *

The way Dean's tongue fucked him felt so damned good. He wanted to push back, but his master held his hips firm, so he didn't. When Dean took Sam's stiffened member in his hand, toyed with it, with its tip, and played with his balls, Sam bit his lip. So good. It felt so good especially when he felt Dean's finger enter beside his tongue. He didn't move though he wanted to. He wanted to fuck into his master's teasing hand and slide back onto that tongue and finger. When the second finger entered him and brushed over that sweet spot inside him, Sam's eyes practically rolled back in his head, but he kept silent. Azazel didn't want him moaning like a whore, and at this point, Azazel would want to focus on his own pleasure. Neither did Sam want to distract Dean, though he really didn't understand why Dean was taking so long to fuck him proper, but whatever Dean wanted.

"I don't want to act like a whore," Sam panted, trying to swallow back his moan. "I like whatever you want to do to me." It was getting harder to stay still as Dean worked him, but he didn't want to disappoint him. "How should I show you how much I like it? If you want to give me more, yes." A small groan of pleasure escaped him and he cursed his weakness. "If you're ready to fuck me, I—" Sam couldn't help bucking when Dean dug just a little into his prostate and he groaned soft and low as he felt his cock slide easily in Dean's hand. It was getting torturous to stay still.

"Please," Sam gasped, wanting so much to be fucked by his master. His master must like him to beg. "Please, Dean, please fuck me. Fuck me hard. Fuck me dirty and fuck me hard," Sam said, guessing Dean probably liked it dirty. Most demons did. Even though his master wasn't a demon, he had a lot of demon power. "Please," Sam moaned.

* * *

Sam's reply made Dean freeze. Admittedly a little shocked at first when the younger man said that he didn't want to act like a _whore_. Whore... That was what Dean had been called often enough. A whore... and he was a good little whore. That was only one of the roles Dean had played through his life as the demon's slave and Azazel had trained him well to be one. The lable had never particularly bothered him before. Though to hear it from Sam's lips now... hurt... just a little...

Is that what Azazel had taught his brother? That he would be a whore if he took his own pleasure? If he let himself moan or show that he enjoyed it? No. Sam was not a whore. He was not like Dean. He would never be like Dean. No matter what Sam had done... been forced to do...

Dean felt his anger building again but it was buried quickly under lust when Sam began begging to be fucked by him. Maybe a whore really was all that Dean was now. Because he wanted this so badly. Even though it was wrong, somewhere in him he knew it was wrong to do this when Sam couldn't tell him it was what he wanted… But Sam was so hot, so tight around his fingers, begging and moaning in spite of himself every time Dean touched that special place deep inside of him. Fuck… Dean wanted this… he _wanted_ it, needed it… If that made him a whore, then so be it. He was Sam's. He was whatever Sam wanted him to be.

"Sammy…" Dean groaned his brother's name and it was almost painful to draw out his fingers from that perfect tight hole, to release his brother's hot throbbing dick. He pushed himself up onto his knees between his brother's legs. His cock so hard and ready as he took himself in hand and rubbed the tip back and forth over the younger man's puckered flesh. Smearing his leaking precome over the tight hole.

Dean didn't push in yet though, instead he grasped Sam's arms and pulled the younger man up and back against his chest so that his brother was practically sitting in his lap. His hard cock nudging against Sam's hole as he kissed the younger man's neck and ran his hands lovingly over his brother's chest.

"You are not a whore. No matter what he said, you are not. You are my brother, my lover. Mine. And I am yours." Dean whispered as he began to push inside the younger man's body slowly, groaning loudly at the exquisite feeling of being inside his brother again. So perfect… "Take me inside. Take what you want, Sammy. I want to please you. Let me please you…"

* * *

Sam could barely stop his whimper when Dean pulled out his fingers from inside him and let go of his hard cock, but he felt Dean shift. He felt that leaking cock of his master's rub around his hole. He was surprised when Dean pulled him up against him, kissing his neck while his hands left trails of hot fire over his flesh. He wanted to slide down on that nudging cock and fill himself with his master's thick member more than anything.

He was pleased when Dean said he wasn't a whore. He had done well then, even with the few groans that escaped his lips. Sam inhaled sharply as he finally got what he wanted and felt Dean's flesh begin to fill him. He relaxed his muscles so Dean could get inside easier.

His master wanted to please him? He was pleasing him. Hearing Dean's groan as he pushed inside filled him with joy. He slid down fully on his master's cock and began to pull off, tightening his sphincter until he reached the base of Dean's head, then relaxing as he slid back down. He went almost painfully slow as he slid up and down, drawing every groan out of Dean that he could. He began to speed up, only to slow down again.

He wanted to see Dean's face. He really really wanted to see his master's face. Dean told him to take what he wanted.

Then he would.

He began working Dean a little harder, feeling the tension coil in Dean's muscles. Dean was getting close, but Sam wasn't ready yet. He wasn't nearly done. He suddenly pulled off Dean with an audible pop, turned, and shoved Dean backwards onto the bed. Barely giving Dean a chance to recover he speared himself deeply on his master's cock, driving it deep. He bounced, enjoying the feel of Dean inside him and then adjusted his angle so Dean's member hit his prostate with every stroke. Driving his tongue inside Dean's mouth as he all but tortured them both with his constantly shifting rhythm made him groan. He tangled his tongue with Dean's then slid his tongue over every millimeter inside that hot mouth. He sucked on Dean's tongue, sucking in time to his agonizing pace. Biting Dean's lip hard enough to draw blood, he let the salty coppery taste tickle his senses. He sat back, but kept rocking up and down on Dean, as he admired the wounded, plump lips of his master.

 

* * *

“Sammy…” Dean moaned his brother’s name at the feeling of his brother sinking down onto his lap, taking his cock all the way inside as deep as it could go. He almost didn’t want to move, just wanting to savor the feeling of the younger man so hot and tight around him, clinging to him so perfectly.

It was Sam who moved first, however, much to Dean’s surprise. Almost drawing completely off of his cock, the younger man’s body squeezing so tight around his shaft it left him breathless and almost dizzy with pleasure. When he thought it couldn’t get any better, Sam sank down on him again, pulling another obscene groan of pleasure from deep inside of him.

“Fuck Sam… that feels so good…” Dean whispered, pressing his forehead to his brother’s shoulder as he watched where their bodies were joined. Watching him slide in and out of Sam’s tight hole as his brother continued to ride him. His fingers flexing on Sam’s hips though he didn’t try to guide the younger man’s movements at all, letting Sam set the pace.

The muscles in his thighs began to tremble with the strain it took to remain still. He wanted to fuck up into his brother so damn bad, find his release, spill his seed hot and deep into his brother’s body. It was so hard… especially when Sam slowed down again to a point that it was almost painfully teasing. Bringing him so close to the edge and then drawing back. But it felt so damned good, Dean didn’t want it to end. He wanted Sam to go on riding him for as long as the younger man wanted…

Dean was in no way prepared however when Sam suddenly pulled off his cock entirely. A cry of protest breaking from Dean’s lips before he could stop it, but before he could really comprehend what was happening Sam was shoving him back hard onto the bed. He felt almost dazed as he looked up at the younger man and he didn’t know if it was because of his intense arousal, the air being knocked out of him a little, or how it felt when the younger man speared himself again on his cock without warning.

He cried out and arched beneath the younger man, his fingers scrambling for purchase for a moment on Sam’s sweat slick thighs. Dean looked up at the younger man, wonder bordering on awe mingling with desire. Sam was so damned beautiful like this it took his breath away and he could only moan louder into his brother’s mouth when Sam kissed him fiercely. Dean’s hips began moving of their own accord, meeting Sam thrust for thrust. Speeding up or slowing down whenever Sam did.

His sounds of pleasure spilling into his brother’s mouth and sometimes Dean wasn’t sure if Sam was fucking him or torturing him, torturing them both. But he certainly didn’t care. He loved every second of it. He was making Sam his again, just as Sam was claiming him.

Dean hissed a little when he felt the sharp bite of Sam’s teeth on his lip but he certainly did not complain. His lips were wet and swollen when his brother finally released them, and Dean licked away the drop of blood that had formed on his lower lips with a groan as Sam watched. One of his hands finally slid off of his brother’s hip to grasp the younger man’s cock. He started to jerk off the younger man in time with his thrusts.

He was so damned ready to come, but Sam had been keeping him on the edge for so long, he wasn’t sure he could until his brother let him. 

* * *

Watching Dean's lick away the drop of blood drew a matching groan from Sam. When Dean began jacking him off, his eyes closed for just a moment. He kept up the teasing pace but it was getting harder to slow back down each time. He looked down at his beautiful master, saw the lust and the love in those green eyes. He settled down on his masters cock, wriggling and rolling his hips, but not lifting off. Tightening and releasing his muscles, he watched the delight and pained need clearly written on Dean's face.

He decided it was finally time. He had tortured them both to the razor's edge and with the long delay, it would take work to get Dean to finally release. He began to just lift off slightly, then slowly increased his pace as he lifted off higher and higher, having to lean forward, hand on either side of Dean's body, to keep his balance.

"You are beautiful, Dean, so beautiful," he panted. "I love you. More than anything."

Sam worked and squeezed and pulled, faster and faster, feeling Dean fuck up into him, matching his pace once again, and the way Dean's hand played his cock was amazing. He felt himself nearing coming but he wanted his master to come first. He worked harder, Not quite pulling off but sinking down and burying Dean in him as Dean pushed up with every stroke.

"Come for me, Dean," Sam begged.

He felt Dean's muscles tighten and he pushed back hard as he felt Dean fill him. Almost as soon as he felt Dean's release he came as well, all but screaming his master's name as he rode Dean through every wave of that rippled through them.

* * *

  
Dean was utterly mesmerized watching his brother moving above him. His brother's body sliding up and down his cock. Graceful muscles flexing under skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. Such love… devotion… in his brother's eyes darkened with desire, it took his breath away. It was perfect and Dean never wanted it to end. 

When Sam settled onto his lap and didn't lift up again, merely rolling his hips and squeezing his already tight muscles around Dean's aching cock, Dean moaned loud and without restraint. Panting at the effort it took to not start thrusting his hips up get his brother moving again on his cock like they both needed it. But he didn't. Maybe it was because he knew as soon as he came he would have to leave the perfect tight sheath of his brother's body and it felt so damned good he didn't care if Sam went on to torture them both like this with this exquisite pleasure for an eternity. He wanted to stay inside Sam forever…

His fingers continued to move teasing up and down his brother's hot hard length however. Sam was so hard he felt like steel beneath the softest velvet. Dean circled his thumb teasingly around his brother's head, rubbing back and forth across his slit, slicking the younger man up with his own dripping precome. 

"Sammy… Sam…" Dean breathed his brother's name like a prayer. A cry ripping from his throat when Sam finally began moving on him again. He was so damned hard, so aroused, the stimulation almost hurt as much as it felt good. So fucking good. He needed to come so damned badly. Dean couldn't stop his hips from snapping up every time Sam sank down on his cock. Meeting Sam's pace but never exceeding it. It didn't really matter though because Sam was not backing off like he had before. There was no stopping this time.

Sam's whispered words sounded so much like _his_ Sam, the one who remembered him, loved him, that was what finally pushed him over the brink. When his brother practically ordered him to come Dean couldn't have held back any longer even if he wanted to. Practically screaming Sam's name as he spilled so fucking long and hard into his brother's tight ass he could feel his come dripping out of his brother's hole around his cock before he'd even stopped. Hearing Sam's cry of pleasure echo his own, feeling his brother's hot seed spilling over his hand and chest, only sent another strong pulse of desire through him and he came even harder. Dean honestly wouldn't have been surprised if he'd passed out at that point from the sheer overload to his senses.

He didn't however. How, he wasn't sure, but he didn't. The pleasure eventually fading to a more bearable level almost as slowly as Sam had worked them up to it. Leaving him gasping for breath and shaking in the afterglow, covered in sweat and his brother's come, and feeling more complete than he'd ever had in his life.    


* * *

Slowly Sam slid off of Dean once Dean had softened inside him. If Dean thought Sam was done with him, he had another think coming. With an evil smile he moved down between Dean's legs and ran his tongue along Dean's shaft, groaning as he lapped away the come that coated Dean's dick and balls taking his time and being extremely thorough. He grinned at Dean's sounds as his tongue ran over that super sensitized flesh. Moaning in pleasure, he worked his way up Dean's body with his tongue, pausing along the way to nip or suck as he licked up his own come mixed with Dean's sweat. He played with Dean's nipples with his mouth, working them hard, very pleased by the reaction he was drawing from his master. When he finally reached Dean's mouth he kissed him, teasing his way in, sharing his taste with Dean

Although he was exhausted, if Dean wanted to fuck him again, he was more than willing and kept his legs spread open. He lay on top of Dean, rubbing slowly against him as he kissed him thoroughly.

"Always yours," Sam sighed happily when he ended their long kiss.

All Dean needed to do was roll them over so Sam was beneath him and he could fuck him as long, as much, and as often as he wanted. "Love you. Love you so much," he told his master. He would be happy to stay in this bed forever though he knew once Dean was through with him for the night, he would need to move to the floor. That was okay. He was really too tired to care and he would probably be asleep before he even had a chance to get cold. Besides it was so much warmer in here than he was used to, it would probably be downright comfortable.

 

* * *

Dean moaned softly, and he wasn’t even sure if it was in relief or complaint, when Sam slid off him. He missed the tight warmth of his brother’s body wrapped around him, though his eyes widened a little when it became obvious that the younger man wasn’t going to let him miss him for long. His own muscles were still twitching a little with the aftershocks of his intense orgasm when his brother moved down between his legs and began licking at his spent shaft.

He groaned louder, throwing back his head, and gasping his brother teased his over sensitive flesh with his lips and tongue as though this was the first time and they hadn’t just come together so damned hard. Dean forced himself to lift his head and watch Sam licking away Dean’s release, some of which he knew was still dripping from Sam’s hole, from his cock and balls. It was so dirty, so hot, so perfect Dean couldn’t help that his cock began to twitch and fill with interest under his brother’s attentions.

“Sam…” He moaned his brother’s name over and over, surprised he managed to string together a single coherent syllable as Sam began working his way up his stomach and chest. Licking away his own come from Dean’s skin. Dean’s fingers sank into Sam’s hair, petting lovingly and possessively, and he all but growled into his brother’s mouth in pleasure when the younger man’s lips finally covered his own. His tongue greedily stroking his brother’s tongue and then pushing its way into Sam’s mouth, tasting them together on his brother’s tongue only making him harder.

The way Sam was splayed over him, his legs spread wide as Sam rubbed against him the invitation was clear and not one that Dean was about to refuse. At his brother’s loving proclamation, Dean didn’t bother to hold back any longer, not that he wanted to. Grasping his brother’s hips and rolling them around so that Sam was beneath him. His brother’s back had barely touched the mattress before Dean was pulling the younger man’s legs up around his waist and he was sinking back inside the sweet tight warmth of his brother’s body. So slick and open for him Dean couldn’t stop the possessive growl of pleasure that escaped his lips as he began to fuck his brother again deep and hard without waiting.

“Mine.” Dean whispered lovingly, angling his hips to make sure he rubbed against his brother’s prostate with every deep thrust. “Love you…” 

* * *

The attention he had given Dean's body had begun to make him hard again and the way Dean kissed him, all but growled, it sent shivers through him. He was delighted Dean wanted to fuck him again. He was still so stretched and certainly with Dean's come still inside him, more than well lubed. Moaning with every deep thrust, every brush on his prostate he forgot he wasn't supposed to make noise, wasn't suppose to enjoy it.

"Yours," Sam responded. He tightened his legs around his master's body, in time with each thrust and he lifted himself up, taking Dean in as deep as possible. He didn't ever want this to end. The way Dean made him feel reverberated in his soul. He caressed Dean with his powers, wrapping him in the joy, the lust, the love that Dean made him feel. Already so wound up from the previous orgasm, Sam's groans were loud and pleasure-filled. His cock had refilled to hard steel and it was sweet pain. He arched and kept pace with Dean. He wouldn't last long and he really hoped Dean meant it when he said he could come when he wanted to. That constant pounding against his prostate was making it harder and harder to hold back and finally he let it go. Fresh come sprayed up his chest and he couldn't help it as the feeling of the orgasm rolled in a wave down his powers, striking Dean full-force.

* * *

Dean loved the way Sam clung to him. He loved it when those little sounds of pleasure finally began falling from his brother’s lips thanks to his efforts. He loved the way the younger man lifted his hips, allowing Dean even deeper inside of him. He loved feeling Sam’s powers twining around him, through him, letting him feel everything his brother felt. All the pleasure. All the love. The stretch and burn and ecstasy of his cock filling him up over and over again, so deep, so perfect. God, he could do this forever. This was where he belonged. This was where he’d always belonged. With Sam. Loving Sam. One…

If he was shocked how quickly his brother had been able to come again after such a hard release not long ago it was lost in the feeling the force of Sam’s orgasm slamming into him like a freight train. Dean couldn’t have stopped himself from shouting loudly if he tried. His own pleasure almost being swallowed by Sam’s, devoured by it, pushing him so close to the edge he couldn’t help falling over after a few more quick deep thrusts into his lover’s body. The younger man’s tightening muscles practically milking his release from him as he came again inside his brother.

He allowed Sam to feel all of his own pleasure, the echoes of his brother’s orgasm still flowing back and forth between them both. Combined it was so intense Dean wasn’t certain he hadn’t passed out for a few moments from the intensity of pleasure rippling through them both.

When his senses finally returned he was laying on top of his brother, both of them still covered in sweat and come. His brother’s seed still warm between them, his cock still buried snugly inside the younger man’s tight body. Though Dean had gone soft, he never wanted to leave. 

* * *

It had been amazing. It had practically been magical. He couldn't remember ever having such good sex, but he supposed that wasn't really fair to say since he couldn't really remember a lot. He remembered bits and pieces of his time with his former master, but nothing really before that. He knew he would likely remember a lot more once he had slept. Dean had removed quite a few of the runes, and more importantly, most of the major ones Sam thought.

He hugged his master close when Dean collapsed on top of him. He was in his own after sex haze. He loved that Dean was still buried deeply inside him and he kept his legs wrapped around his master. Once his master stirred, he would retrieve a couple wet towels to clean him off, unless the man wanted to shower. Honestly, he didn't really even want to move. Having his master panting hot breaths into his neck, feeling the slickness of come and sweat between them, it all seemed perfect and as it should be.

He shut his eyes and sighed contentedly and though he certainly didn't mean to, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Dean smiled against his brother’s neck when he heard, and felt, the younger man’s breaths even out and he knew that Sam had fallen asleep. The idea that his brother had fallen asleep so easily with Dean still buried inside of him would have ignited a spark of arousal in the elder man if he hadn’t already been so spent. Though if Sam had wanted him again, he was sure he could have gotten it up again to fuck the younger man. He would do anything to please Sam. Anything…

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there before he finally eased himself out of his brother carefully. Knowing how sore Sam must be having been fucked so thoroughly, and he didn’t want to cause the younger man any undo discomfort. Sam stirred and shifted a little, but he settled again when Dean began whispering hushed words and petting his hair.

Dean smiled tenderly down at the younger man, before he levered himself off of the bed slowly, not wanting to wake his brother. He fetched one of the towels he hadn’t used before and wet it, returning to Sam’s side and kneeling by the bed as he carefully cleaned the younger man. He wiped the come from his brother’s chest, stomach, between his legs, and around his hole with infinite care. When he was done, he cleaned himself off quickly.

Tossing the used towel amongst the others, Dean laid back down in the bed and gathered his brother into his arms once more. Looking down at the precious young man he held with more love than he felt capable of expressing as he trailed his fingers lovingly over his cheek. Moving from his brother’s face down his neck, chest, and stomach, and finally running his fingers tenderly over his brother’s softened cock.

Wrapping his powers protectively around the younger man, Dean brushed his lips one last time over Sam’s forehead before he let his eyes slide closed and followed his brother into sleep. 


	15. Chapter 15

  


It was terribly confusing. He smelled sweat, but not urine or shit or puke. He smelled sex, but only faintly. Where were the icy shackles on his wrists or the hooks through his palms? A moment of guilt and fear flashed through him and he wasn't certain why then he realized that he was laying flat, on soft cushions, a warm blanket over him. He couldn't recall the last time he had laid in a soft bed and been warm.

He didn't hurt. Well, he did, but at this point the aching muscles and soreness of his ass were hardly worth noting. He felt arms and a power wrapped protectively around him, immediately recognizing that power as his brother's. It was Dean who held him. He didn't care if he were still in Azazel's grasp, still serving him, so long as Dean was unharmed and better still, in his arms.

Lying there a few minutes longer he could make out items in the room and slowly the strangely familiar shapes brought back memories of when he was a child. The large dresser, the vanity with its oval mirror, the rocking chair, the funnel shaped light shade on the lamp on the nightstand beside the bed. Jim's. They were at Pastor Jim's.

Puzzling these facts out, he fought through the fog of his memories.

Azazel was dead. The only chains he felt were those binding his soul to Dean. He smiled. Things were still a bit fuzzy and after a moment he realized there were still runes scribed into him. He could tell some of them tried to short circuit his memory and he felt a few things slip away. But not who he was. Not who Dean was. Not where he was. Not that he was free.

He couldn't help himself. He began to laugh.

* * *

When Dean first began to wake he’d thought the younger man was crying.

The sounds he’d heard coming from his brother, the way the younger man trembled in his arms, had Dean awake instantly. Pushing himself and looking down at Sam with no small amount of concern. Worry at the forefront of his mind.

What had upset Sam so? Maybe it was a dream? Had a nightmare woken the younger man?

Anger flashed through Dean at whatever had caused it, not even knowing what it was yet. Hadn’t Sam suffered enough pain? Why was he constantly unable to protect his brother from it?

However as he looked down at the younger man in his arms, Dean realized quickly that Sam was not crying. The expression on his brother’s face was not of despair. Sam wasn’t crying… he was laughing? Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion, the worry he felt not fading despite this unexpected turn of events.

“Sam?” 

* * *

Sam didn't mean to wake his brother up and the sudden concern he saw on Dean's face almost made him feel guilty. But he couldn't feel guilty, he was too damned happy and relieved. He pulled Dean down on top of him and kissed him, a grin on his face when he released him then rolled Dean over so he was on top of him.

"We're free, Dean. Azazel is dead. He doesn't have hold over you or me. The thing that killed our mom is dead! No demon war, no demonic invasion. An angel said both of us can get to Heaven. No more torture, ever. No more fearing that when we die it's a guarantee we're going to end up on a rack for all eternity! Yeah, I'm not quite fixed yet, more runes to remove," he made a face at that, "but soon they'll all be gone. Then just you and me. Working on redeeming the hell out of ourselves, proving we don't belong in Hell."

He kissed Dean again then pushed himself out of bed. Not bothering with his briefs, he pulled on his pants and looked back at Dean. Holding a hand out to him he said, "C'mon, I want to see Dad and Bobby and Jim. And I'm fucking starved."

* * *

Dean was still confused, still worried, and taken a little by surprise when Sam suddenly pulled him down into a deep kiss. But not surprised enough that he didn’t respond immediately. He felt his brother’s smile against his lips before the younger man flipped them over, pinning him beneath Sam, and Dean looked at his brother perplexed. His worry beginning to fade a bit when it seemed Sam was fine… better than fine even… even though Dean was still a little confused…

Then Sam began to speak and Dean’s confusion evaporated, and utter relief and joy replaced it. Not so much because of what Sam was telling him, but the fact that his brother remembered it all. Sam _remembered_.

Dean laughed as well then. His own smile splitting his face so wide it almost hurt. The joy he’d felt initially, Azazel dead, Sam safe, had been dampened when he realized his brother’s memories were gone. But now that joy was back, and Dean wanted nothing more than to take his brother in his arms, hold and kiss him breathless and just… love him… without any fear, without any regret, without any guilt, or anger clouding his joy.

But Sam pulled away from him after only a quick kiss, started to pull on his clothes, and even if Dean wanted to he couldn’t feel regret. He only nodded and then laughed when Sam admitted how hungry he was. No surprise after the workout that Dean had given him. Dean pushed himself up from the bed as well, grabbing his jeans from the floor and putting them on, before taking Sam’s offered hand. Grinning at Sam as he tugged the younger man close and gave him another kiss before he forced himself to loosen his hold on his brother and let him go.

To his family…

* * *

Sam wasn't certain he had ever seen Dean smile like that. It was so pure and he realized it mirrored the smile on the young boy's face in one of the pictures his father had of his four year old older brother. It was Dean. His older brother. Safe. Home. Loved. With Sam.

Sam welcomed the kiss but he really did want to see everyone and he was starved. He knew if he let Dean get away with it it would be a while before they got out of the bedroom. He was shocked when Dean released him. Running his fingers through Dean's hair, he smiled. "I love you, Dean."

He grabbed Dean's arm and steered him out into the hallway. Rumsfeld bounded down the hall to greet them, excitedly dancing around them, barking playfully, his tail wagging. Sam laughed at his enthusiasm.

The sun was near setting and Sam could smell the lingering scent of fried chicken. Pastor Jim made the best damned fried chicken he had ever tasted. Walking into the kitchen he saw the remains of dinner spread across the table, the men still sitting in their chairs. All eyes turned to him and Dean.

Sam gave Dean's shoulder a light squeeze then approached his father. John stood and Sam hugged him so hard as if to never let him go.

"It's good to see you Dad," Sam said, choking up.

* * *

Dean smiled at his brother’s words, barely able to keep himself from pulling the younger man close and kissing Sam again. Though he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the gentle touch of his brother’s fingers running through his hair with a pleasant sigh. Later. He would show Sam just how much he loved him later. Right now Sam wanted to eat and to see his family.

So Dean simply followed Sam out of the room, laughing a little at the dog’s excited greeting. He pet Rumsfeld on the head and scratched behind his ear, since the animal seemed to enjoy that so much. Then followed Sam down the hall, the dog happily trailing right behind him on his heels.

Dean was grateful when he smelled the food coming from the kitchen area. That meant that Sam wouldn’t have to wait to eat. When they got to the dining room area the older men looked as though they’d already eaten, and Dean hoped there was some left. Enough for Sam at least. Dean could certainly go without if he had to, as long as Sam was fed.

Dean remained where he was standing in the doorway of the dining room, giving Sam a small smile and watching as his brother approached his dad. Though he honestly wasn’t sure what he felt when he watched the older man stand and Sam hug him tightly. It certainly wasn’t jealousy or sadness. If Dean had to put a name to the feeling, he’d say it was… longing…

***

John Winchester had spent most of the afternoon outside working on the Impala. Not that he doubted that Bobby had been taking good care of the car while the other man had been holding it for Sam, but it had been a long time and… it gave him something to do outside. Rather than inside where despite the fairly decent soundproofing that Jim’s house had they could all hear Sam and dean when they were… together…

At least he wasn’t the only one. Jim had decided to do some gardening and Bobby had split his time between helping him with the Impala and on the phone with his insurance agent to get the money he needed for repairing the damage to his home that freak “tornado” had caused. At least John had some money set aside to help with the repairs if his old friend needed it. It was the least he could do, though he didn’t offer yet. Knowing his friend would turn down anything he considered a hand out.

He hadn’t really been concerned when neither Sam nor Dean emerged from the bedroom around lunch time. Though now that dinner had come and passed the three men were debating whether or not to go wake them or let them rest. They had to still be exhausted from everything they’d gone through (bedroom activities aside) and they could always heat up dinner later in the microwave even if fried chicken wasn’t as good reheated.

That was about when they heard the bedroom door open and Bobby’s dog immediately jumped up and ran down the hall to greet the two young men. John couldn’t help but chuckle at the dog’s antics. The dog loved children and Sam had always loved playing with the animal whenever he stayed with Bobby, but John was still surprised what a special bond the animal seemed to have with Dean. Practically glued to the young man’s side whenever he was around.

John’s eyes went to the doorway immediately when his son… sons… emerged and he could see something was different right away. He could see it the minute his eyes met Sam’s. Recognition. John felt his eyes misting over even before he stood and suddenly his son’s arms were around him in a vice like hold. His own arms circling the younger man in a tight bear hug, the relief he felt so immense it left him feeling weak. His own throat closing up a little hearing the hitch in Sam’s voice.

“Good to see you too, Son.” John finally managed with just as much emotion. 

* * *

Sam just held his father for a minute. He had almost lost his Dad. Too many times and in too many ways. "I know we don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, Dad, and I know we're still going to butt heads, but let's never be such asses that we let so much time pass again without seeing or talking to each other, okay?"

He clapped his father on his back and turned to the other two men. He hesitated a moment as the runes struggled to erase their names and memories of them from Sam's mind. He fought it and shook his head. He smiled then.

"Bobby, Jim, it's good to see you. Don't take offense if I suddenly forget who you are, okay? We've still got more runes to get rid of and they're determined little bastards," He said as he reached across the table and shook each of their hands.

"Good to have you back, boy, both of you," he said, giving a glance and nod to Dean.

Jim clasped Sam's hand in both of his. "I'm glad you're okay. But I don't ever want to do that again. Just so we're clear."

Bobby gave Jim a little shove on the shoulder. "What are you talkin' bout? You got to meet an angel of God. How many priests can say that? Well, sane priests, anyhow."

Laughing softly Jim released Sam's hand. "He wasn't exactly pleased to show himself."

John began laughing then. "You have no idea Jim. I see where demons get their traits of arrogance from. And righteousness? That angel had it in spades. With demons you at least know they're going to trick or manipulate you. Angels just do whatever pleases them, or rather, what they feel is right and just in the eyes of God."

Jim cocked an eyebrow at John. "And I think I will have to pick your brain for everything you learned about angels."

Shaking his head, John said, "No. Briathos wouldn't be pleased by that, and it's a poor strategy to write down information about the good guys that the bad guys could lay their hands on."

Sam smiled at the three. He didn't really remember anything about angels though he vaguely recalled his father collapsing once they had left Azazel's little slice of reality and the brilliant light that had poured out of him. He wasn't sure if that was due to the runes or simply the screwed up condition he had been in…or because of the things Azazel had done to him. His eyes clouded over a moment, some of those things showing sharp and clear in his mind's eye. A light bulb over the sink blew. Sam winced.

"Uh, sorry. I'm still kind of learning about control." Sam grimaced. He apparently still had a shitload of training to do. He still wielded his powers with emotions as the driving force and he had to learn to disentangle his emotions from his powers. Reluctantly he acknowledged he felt the craving to release his powers full force on something, anything, just to see its destruction. Using the powers was addictive and one habit he was simply going to have to break, or at least learn to manage it.

Holding his hand out to Dean, he shrugged a little. "Guess you're still elected to be my teacher."

When Dean took his hand, Sam pulled him into the chair at one of the two place settings.

"I trust you left us lots of dinner? I feel like I haven't eaten in a week. And ice tea. I really want some of Jim's sweet sun tea if there's any?"  


* * *

  


Dean watched Sam with a small smile on his face, happy because Sam was so happy. He was also relieved that he no longer had to pretend to be the master anymore for Sam. At least, he wouldn’t once the final runes were removed. Soon everything would be as it should. He would give his soul back to Sam, and then…

He didn’t know what was going to happen. For the first time in his life he wasn’t certain of his purpose, but Dean was more than content to let Sam guide him.

It was then Dean noticed a shadow pass over the younger man’s face. Something dark… and painful… It was almost like Dean could see the memories going through Sam’s mind’s eye. Memories Dean didn’t have to imagine, not only because he had seen Sam experience it, but he had experienced it firsthand too. Dean took a step forward to his brother in concern, wanting to comfort the younger man in any way he could, right before he felt the buildup of power in Sam and the light bulb shattered. Bringing everyone’s attention back to Sam and Dean saw the younger man hide the memories away again quickly behind a smile.

Dean said nothing. Though he felt both angry and sad at the same time. He should have known with the return of Sam’s memories, that meant _all_ his memories of his time with Azazel would return as well. If there was one thing Dean wished his brother could forget, it was that. But even knowing how painful those memories were for his brother, Dean could not wish them away if it meant that Sam would forget himself too.

Though when his brother held out his hand to him, Dean took it willingly. Giving his brother a small reassuring smile, he sat in the chair Sam indicated. Slipping his hand out of Sam’s only so he could move it to the back of his brother’s neck. Gently massaging and petting the younger man’s soft hair. Having eyes only for Sam as the other men got up to bring his brother his dinner. 

* * *

Sam sighed softly as Dean's fingers tickled the nape of his neck in between a pleasant bit of massage.

As Jim pushed himself to his feet like John and Bobby, he said, "Of course there are plenty of leftovers and I made an extra jar of sun tea, knowing how much you like it. The chicken should still be warm, but the potatoes and gravy probably need heating up as do the lima beans."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Lima beans?"

"I thought you liked lima beans," Jim said standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

Sam flushed a little. "You were always so great to me and Dad. You think I was going to complain you gave me lima beans?"

Jim shook his head with a smile. "Okay, I'll heat some green beans up in the microwave. Is there anything else you don't like?"

"Rhubarb-strawberry pie. Jim, that's just so wrong on a level I can't begin to describe. Vegetables don't belong in a fruit pie."

Laughing, Jim walked into the kitchen. He was glad the sink was well away from the food even though the food was covered. They just hadn't gotten around to putting it away, having only finished shortly before the boys came in. Bobby handed John the sun tea from inside the refrigerator, followed by a tray of ice cubes.

Within a few minutes they had filled plates for both Sam and Dean. John carried the plates out, while Bobby brought the glasses of tea and Jim brought in the pitcher of tea and a plate of steaming, home made biscuits.

John slid the plates in front of each of the boys. "There's more in the kitchen if you want," he told them.

"Thanks, Dad," Sam said. He started to reach for a biscuit, hesitated, then forced himself to take one, refusing to acknowledge the spike of fear that shot through him. After another moment of hesitation, he set it on Dean's plate then smiled at his lover.

"Your turn. You try. You are still," and Sam grinned, "the master right now. Would you get me a biscuit from the plate?" Dean would have to eventually learn to get food that wasn't given to him. Azazel had beat it into Sam in just a few short weeks that he took nothing that wasn't given to him. He didn't expect Dean to overcome that same belief, a lifetime of that training, quickly. Maybe never. But if he got Dean to take food to give to him, then down the road he could take that food and give it to Dean. Eventually he hoped he could get Dean over it completely, but he had no delusions that it would be anytime soon.

At least now he understood so much more about how Dean's thought process worked. He would never want to experience such torture and torment again, but a few positive things had come out of it. Any little silver lining was a blessing but there was a whole lot of things he never wanted to ever even think about again.  


* * *

Since Sam gave him no indication that he wanted Dean to stop, the elder man continued gently rubbing and massaging the back of the younger man’s neck until the older men returned with his brother’s food. Dean reluctantly let his hand fall away then, though he let his fingertips trail over Sam’s shoulder and down his arm before his hand fell back to his side. He gave John Winchester a small nod of thanks when a plate was set in front of him as well as his brother. Dean wasn’t feeling all that hungry right now, despite the fact that they’d slept through most of the day and all their activity earlier should have helped him work up an appetite. Maybe he was simply too relieved and happy that Sam was back that he didn’t care much about anything else. But he would eat anyway, even if Rumsfeld ended up getting most of the portion on his plate.

Of course Dean was watching Sam, so he noticed immediately the younger man’s hesitation when he began to reach for the biscuits on the table. Slight enough that the other men might not have noticed it, but Dean did. His heart constricted a little, that small bit of hesitation another reminder that even though his brother was back he would never be the same. Because Dean had failed to protect him as he’d promised. Because he’d let Azazel take his brother…

Dean wasn’t really surprised when the younger man placed the food on his plate, but when Sam turned to him unexpectedly and asked him to get him a biscuit Dean’s eyes widened and he felt himself pale a bit. His eyes shifted away from Sam to the plate of food, looking at it like it was a snake about to bite him.

It had been easy to give Sam food before because the other men had given it to him first. As long as it was given to him, Dean could do pretty much anything he wanted with it. But to simply take… But Sam, his master (even though Sam had just called _him_ the master…) had ordered him to take it, to give it to him. Dean swallowed hard, reaching out slowly to the plate, waiting for the punishment he knew could come at any time. But his hand froze half way there and Dean’s eyes flickered helplessly to his Dad sitting across from him. 

* * *

John saw Sam's pause and the slight look of fright that entered his eyes, followed almost immediately by grim determination. Bobby had talked to Jim and himself about Dean's inability to take food, that it had to be given to him, the same way when Sam didn't remember that he had to wait for food to be given to him. He was proud of Sam for fighting the demon's terrible conditioning.

John's eyes shifted to Dean with Sam's request and saw how his boy paled. He watched at Dean struggled to do as Sam said, tried to reach out to the plate of warm biscuits. Seeing his son freeze in obvious fright made his heart practically break and anger flared inside him. That damned demon had crippled Dean, made him dependant on the demon just that much more. If the demon had wanted to, hell, probably had, taunted Dean, starving him with a feast of food within reach and Dean unable to take any of it with fear of brutal reprisal. He wished they could have captured the demon and made that bastard suffer the way it had made his sons suffer. At least it was dead and with time, he and Sam might be able to rebuild Dean and take away those horrible fears drilled into him. He wondered ever so briefly if Sam hadn't taken Dean on as a …lover…if Dean would have made the progress he already had toward becoming his own man. Reluctantly, John knew Dean probably wouldn't have. Dean would either be dead or still serving Azazel, and Sam would still be in the demon's clutches being trained to lead a demon army for the fallen angel. Trained such that Sam would have been like Dean, gleeful in the torture and destruction of anything that crossed his path or that the demon told him to seek out.

When Dean looked to him, to him, for help, John smiled at Dean, pleased that Dean once again need him, pleased that Dean held him in high enough regard that John could help him. "Son, if a serving plate of food is set on a table at a friend's house, it's being offered to you as readily as if it were on a plate in front of you. If the friend prays before a meal, you should wait for the prayer to end before taking food, and if it is the last item in the serving dish you should offer it to anyone else at the table. If no one else wants that last item, it's yours to have, to accept it as yours, without fear of punishment. You are at a friend's house now. The biscuits," and John reached out and nudged the plate toward Dean in offering, "are yours and Sammy's to eat if you would like to."

* * *

As Dean listened to the older man reassure him that it was all right for him to take the food, repeating much of what Sam and Bobby had already tried to explain to him once already, he wished he could say it made him feel better. It didn’t.

He was a “guest” in Jim’s home. The food was meant for _everyone_ at the table. Sam had even _asked_ him to, for Sam, not for him. They had told him over and over that the ways of demons and humans were different. He would not be punished if he touched the food that was not placed upon his plate…

But he could not shake the fear paralyzing him. A part of him fearful, in spite of everything, that this was only a test. It had happened before. His father had told him one thing, and then tested him. Dean hadn’t understood that they were tests. He hadn’t known what to obey… his father had taught him very quickly the difference. Was this a test now? Were they trying to see if they could make him disobey and then punish him afterwards?

Even as he thought it he knew that wasn’t true. Sam would not do that to him… Dad… would not do that to him. Would not try to confuse him that way. Yet… Azazel had taught him well… But he wanted to obey Sam. He had failed Sam so many times… he didn’t want to fail him anymore…

When John Winchester nudged the plate a little closer to him, Dean swallowed hard and forced his hand back into motion. Quickly snagging one of the biscuits off of the plate and dropping it on Sam’s like it was a red hot coal.

Then he simply sat there, still as stone, not even daring to breathe as he waited for the ax to fall. If it had been a test. If he’d failed. He’d know soon enough…

* * *

Sam watched Dean, feeling guilty that he was pushing Dean this way, and hating it when Dean froze, unable to do what Sam asked. Sam was surprised Dean turned to their dad. Dean barely knew their dad, but he was pleased to see it. Maybe some part of Dean did remember, if only a little, his real father.

He listened to his father try to convince Dean it was okay. Maybe their dad's words would reach Dean, maybe a different angle could get Dean to try. He kept his fingers crossed knowing how difficult this was for his brother.

When Dean snatched the biscuit and put it on his plate, Sam could have practically cried. He could see Dean was terrified he was going to be punished. At least Sam understood now. Previously he would have swept Dean into his arms, but he knew Dean was already on edge. Instead, he took Dean's hand and brought it to his lips.

"I'm so proud of you," Sam said, beaming. "I know how hard that was." He leaned over and with his other hand, turned Dean's head to face him. He kissed Dean deeply. "That was perfect. You did perfect. Didn't he Dad?"

John felt the air rush out of his lungs when he saw Dean screw on his courage and snatch the biscuit. He couldn't stop his own smile. It faltered a little when Sam kissed his brother, but he had to accept this was the way things were going to be. This was the way things had to be. So long as Dean was back with them, did it really matter? So the boys had the same parents. It wasn't as if they grew up together, not really. Well, they had, but they didn’t know the truth and had long ago developed the love they now shared physically. His smile broadened at Sam's question.

"Yes, better than perfect. He'll be sneaking food off your plate in no time," John said with a laugh. His eyes grew distant as he recalled a fond and cherished memory. "Dean used to grab Cheerios out of my bowl of cereal in the morning. Dripping milk everywhere, on the floor, on the table, down the front of his shirt, as he grinned and ate them. Your mother would scold you," John told Dean, "but the best she ever managed to do was to get you to eat them at the table so the milk just puddle up on the table. I wasn't any help because I thought it was funny as hell and encouraged you. Mostly because Mary would just fume at me for letting you get away with it. Though she got me back, believe me." John's eyes fairly shone with the recollection.  
  
Sam had never heard that story before, but then, his father had rarely spoken of Dean or his mother for that matter. He could see the young boy from the pictures doing just what his father described and chuckled. Picking up the biscuit Dean had dropped on his plate, he bit into it. "Mmm, thank you, Dean. Tastes almost as good as you."

* * *

Proud.

Dean thought he could have wept at those words. With his brother’s gentle reassuring touch the tension in his body bled away and Dean felt himself actually smiling into the younger man’s kiss. Sam was proud of him. He had pleased Sam. That was all that mattered to him.

Though when John Winchester voiced that he was pleased as well, Dean wasn’t sure what he felt. It wasn’t the same kind of relief and joy he felt knowing that he had pleased Sam. It was different… but it was similar. His dad… daddy… was proud of him…

Though when the older man went on to say Dean would be sneaking food from his master’s plate in no time, he almost paled. He would _never_ dare such a thing. He hoped that Sam knew that. Dean’s eyes turned to Sam, though the younger man seemed only amused by the notion. Especially as they listened to the elder Winchester describe how Dean had done similar things as a… child… things he didn’t remember. But…

Dean looked down at the table, but he didn’t see it or his plate in front of him. The table was also a lot… closer… or maybe he was just smaller. On the dark wood surface there were little puddles of milk everywhere, just as John Winchester had described, and little soggy letters spread out in front of him. He was munching on a few of the soggy letters, but he was arranging the others in a line.

_”Lookie Daddy!” He finally cried, pointing to the letters on the table. Beaming up at the man sitting in the chair next to him and John Winchester put down the paper he’d been reading, turning to see what his son had been up to. The same look of love and pride on his face as he saw the four soggy words Dean had spelled out onto the table._

Dad. Mom. Sam. Love.

“They were Alphabits.” Dean blurted out suddenly. He wasn’t even sure where the name came from, it was simply there. Like the memory he wasn’t sure whether to trust or not. 

* * *

John's eyebrows lifted when Dean said 'Alphabits.' He suddenly broke into laughter. "When you were younger they were Cheerios. Then Mary picked up the Alphabits because you were starting to learn your letters. We played games of naming the letters before you ate them and pretty soon you learned to spell a few words." His eyes shone and he looked between his boys. "Dean had his own bowl by then and did a pretty good job of feeding himself without too much of a mess," he told Sam then turned back to Dean, "Once you had eaten a little, then you started the hunt for letters. You would dig through your bowl for the ones you wanted. If you couldn't find them in yours, you'd hunt through mine. And then you'd hunt through your mom's. Using your fingers of course. You would make an absolute mess. Mary would have a fit, but," and he laughed again, "I noticed she never stopped you from hunting for the letters in her bowl."

Sam honestly couldn't recall any time in recent years when his Dad's eyes had reflected such happiness. When he had laughed like he was laughing now. His father must have been so very different before the fire that had stolen away half their family. He wondered if it had never happened if the two of them would have still butted heads. Yeah, probably, he decided.

"You need to get out all the pictures Dad," Sam said. "Tell us both about them. Maybe Dean will remember more."

John hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Jim's got a copy of them on CD somewhere. I'll ask him to find them. So what are you boys going to do this evening?"

Sam shrugged. "Still have more runes to get off me, but that we'll do before we go to bed. Help you three clean up from dinner. Maybe Rumsfeld can convince Dean to throw the ball for him for a little while," he said grinning at Dean. Rumsfeld, who had been lying beside Dean's chair sat up at the sound of his name, his tail thumping loudly on the floor.

"Dean always loved dogs," John said with a smile. "We were going to get him one for Christmas. A German Shepherd."

Sam chewed on his lip a moment. "…Dad, I know it's gotta be weird, me and Dean…together."

John shook his head. "I'll deal with it, Sammy. Dean's alive. He's home. You and me, we're talking again. I got both my sons back. That's more important than anything else. Though," he gave a small smile, "if you two are going to stay together, Dean might want to choose a different last name. Maybe his middle name. Mathew. That was my older brother's name, you know."

"I didn't even know his middle name," Sam admitted as he began digging into dinner. He looked over at Dean. He started to ask him what he wanted to do this evening, but he knew. Whatever Sam wanted was what Dean wanted. And now he understood that. Before they left, he would have to make a point of getting Dean alone with each of the other men, do some things without Sam being there. Maybe Dean would find things he liked and Sam could…no. That just wasn't the way it worked. Dean had to discover them on his own and then see that Sam approved of them. He would get bolder with time. There wasn't going to be any rushing this. Just like there wasn't going to be rushing Dean into the idea of Sam freeing him. Of Sam being his lover instead of his master. He had to admit, a part of him sort of panicked at the thought of not having a master, at the thought of Dean not owning his soul as he did now. Jesus, Azazel was fucking good at getting into your head.

He jerked his chin toward Dean's plate. "Eat at least a little, Dean. Or go play with Rumsfeld if you aren't hungry. Or you can sit here and get more tales of your misspent youth out of Dad."  


* * *

  


Dean found himself smiling as their dad filled in some of the blank pieces of his past, and it… comforted… him to know that the memory was real. It wasn’t just his imagination. He had truly had a life before Azazel. Before the demon had stolen him away from his family… Daddy, Mommy, and Sammy…

He hoped when he saw the pictures he would remember more. Maybe he would remember his mom… Dean knew that was probably a hopeless wish. He’d been so young, and up until he’d met Sam, Azazel, his ‘father’, was all he knew. Still he hoped.

When Sam looked at him and suggested that he eat, Dean nodded and started on the food from his plate. Glancing briefly at Rumsfeld when he heard the dog’s tail thumping on the floor, and he smiled. Taking some of the chicken from his plate and feeding it to the animal.

While he wasn’t very hungry and knew he would enjoy going outside and playing with the dog for a while before it got too dark, Dean found himself wanting to stay right where he was more. A part of him interested in hearing more stories, but more than that, just wanting to be here with his dad and brother. His family…

“I’ll stay.” He answered, giving the younger man a content smile. 


	16. Chapter 16

They stayed at Pastor Jim's for a little over a month. Dean was unimpressed with going to church on Sundays, but Sam insisted that if they were going to both get redeemed to get into Heaven, it wouldn't kill Dean to try to learn more about the other side of the coin from the human perspective.

Dean seemed to have quite an interest in tinkering with the Impala's engine and John enthusiastically showed Dean how to work on the car, change the fluids, spark plugs, belts, just about everything. Sam encouraged it. He had no talent under the hood. Okay, maybe he just had no interest, never had, in learning about working on cars.

They all decided Dean and Sam going back to Bobby's while it was still in rubble would bring back too many bad memories, but Bobby promised to look for Dean's knives. Going back to school wasn't what Sam wanted any more either. He wanted to make absolutely certain Dean made it into Heaven. That meant hunting evil and helping people and he decided he was okay with that.

"Son," John said to Sam, "are you sure about this?"

"Yeah. Dad, I know you said you're dealing with me and Dean being together but do you really want to be hearing us next door every night?" He smirked at the grimace he saw flit across his father's face. "I think it's best if we work our own jobs and maybe get together every month or two or something. Hell, take some vacations, because Dean needs to get to know you as much as you need to get to know him. Besides, the demon who killed Mom is dead. You've earned the right to kick back now and again. And don't give me that crap about evil not waiting. It'll always be there and you taking a few days to spend with me and Dean won't make a difference. Sometimes weeks go by without any real jobs and you know it."

John raked his ringers through his hair. "Okay. We'll figure it out, I guess. You got everything you need?"

Sam smiled. "You stocked us up pretty good on weapons. I think we'll be okay."

"He's going to miss Rumsfeld," John said, looking over at his eldest who was leaning against the door of the Impala, wearing John's old leather jacket. He had insisted Dean take it, along with some of the tapes they had been listening too while working on the car.

"Not as much as you might think," Sam said as Bobby pulled up in his car. "Did you get it?" he yelled to Bobby as he headed toward him.

"Yer nuts boy, you know that?" Bobby yelled back.

"Maybe." When he reached the car, Sam opened the passenger's side door and a young gangly dog, somewhat on the thin side, probably six months old and one that looked like it was part German Shepherd, tumbled out of the car. Sam took hold of the leash. It seemed a little scared and looked around, cowering. Sam tugged gently on the leash. "C'mon boy, you're not on death row any more. You have a home."

The dog hesitantly walked forward, still looking around, its tail drooping. Sam walked up to Dean and handed him the dog's leash. "He's yours. I don't know how it'll work, us being on the road hunting, but if it doesn't work, we can find him a home somewhere."

* * *

They were leaving.

It had been a little strange to Dean at first staying in one place so long… at least, a place that wasn’t filled with demons, where he was tortured and locked in a cell for weeks at a time. It had been difficult at first, but now that they were leaving, somehow he felt even stranger. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. It was an odd mix of emotions he couldn’t really name.

He was filled with a strange kind of… regret… knowing he wouldn’t see his dad, Bobby, Pastor Jim, or Rumsfeld every day anymore for a while. He’d never had a home, not like this, but a part of him had started to think of this place as “home”.

But at the same he was more than ready to leave, _because_ he had never stayed in one place for so long before. He was restless. His life had not prepared him for sitting around and doing nothing from day to day. He had been taught to be a hunter… a killer… that was what he was now, and would always be. He could not change that, and if he tried to deny that part of him, he knew he would eventually go mad.

Dean knew, of course, that things would always be different than the life he’d once led. The fact that he would now be hunting demons and other evil creatures that he had once considered masters, or allies, only the beginning. Dean was more than prepared to learn how to survive in this strange new world he had to live in now, however.

He glanced over at Sam talking to their dad and smiled. For Sam, he would do anything. While Dean had never really cared before where his soul ended up, in heaven or hell, for Sam he would try to “redeem” himself, as his brother put it. If for no other reason because he never wanted to be separated from the younger man again. Not in life, or death.

Rumsfeld came back with the ball Dean had thrown for him, and Dean threw it again. Smiling at the animal as it chased after the soggy tennis ball. Yes, he was going to miss it here.

He turned his attention back to Sam, watching as Bobby’s car pulled up. They’d been waiting for the older hunter to return, but Dean didn’t know why. Dean’s eyes widened a little as he watched the young dog jump out of the car and Sam led the animal over to him.

His?

Dean slowly knelt down in front of the skittish animal and held out his hand. The dog hesitated at first but then inched closer to sniff at him. Its tail beginning to wag a little. Rumsfeld returned then with his tennis ball, dropping it in front of Dean, and the two dogs sniffed at each other curiously for a couple of moments. Dean picked up the tennis ball and stood, seeing him do so Rumsfeld began wagging his tail excitedly. The new dog began wagging its tail more vigorously, sensing the older dogs excitement. Dean threw the ball and both dogs happily took off after it, barking together.

“I think it will work out.” Dean said, turning to Sam with a grin.


End file.
